k*i.  ■  ■ 


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FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 


REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,  D.  D. 


BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 


THE   LIBRARY  OF 


PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


V 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


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i  ur  rn 


V 


^ 


MAY   10  1933 


I  HI 


DUTCH 


*!    prf 


V*S 


PILGRIM    FATHERS 


\  N!> 


oTIIKlf    POEMS, 


HUMOROUS    AND    NOT    HUMOROUS. 


B1 


EDWARD    IIOPPKK. 


i  m. 


t+. 


St 


\  K\\     V  o  B  K 
PUBLISHED    BY    HURD    AND    HOUQHTON 

BOSTON      l.     I'     IM  I  TOM    \M»  I  0MPAM1 
I8( 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1865.  by 

Hurd  and  Houghton. 

in  the  Clerk's  OfhVe  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the» 

Southern  District  of  Xew  York. 


riverside,   Cambridge: 

STEREOTYPED     AND     PRINTED     BY 
1!     i)     BOUGRTON    AND    COMPANY 


TO  THE 

DESCENDANTS    OF   THE   KNICKERBOCKERS, 

Cl)ts   iSoob 

13   RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED. 


COKTKXTS. 


The  Dutcb  Pilgrim  Pathkba 7 

On    i  hi    Ai>\  \\  i  \«.i;  Of   Ki  i  riN'.   "M     KYI    BBUT 4"< 

Bow  nil.  Ghosta  wi            in  douto]    8li  irv  Bollow  79 

\  v 90 

!;i  mim-<  I  m  i    -  i    a  <  « »llege  Tramp 

I'.w:                         IOC 

i  in    Aitle-Tkee 

FOB             LXDIAL Ill 

Tin:  Wo*  >D-NTMFH 114 

The  V            116 

Till     '  M.\II>   AND  IIlMIlLI  -:  117 

A    NbVRMRl        -  M 11(J 

Tm    Show 121 

I  'l » ■:  \  I  i    n      

;  L4DOW 194 

w  a  Priboxrr 196 

lii  i :  World  ukm  movihg 

Wn.i,  mi.  We  Km   \i>\-  win  \   foo   ml? 

I I  a  M  M  3  l :    A. WAT 

BOW  JOHHRY  WAS  BPOB  14<) 

Dr.  Kam: 144 

145 

:  i  I  i:    :  M  \  ]  1: 147 

AWn.mMi   iomtTo  in 

The  Old  Flag. 

Our  (  -  Cali 15G 


VI  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Volunteers'  Song 158 

Live,  Republic  ! 160 

The  Staks  are  all  there 1G2 

The  Martyr-President 161 

The  Poor 170 

Our  only  Child 172 

The  Light  of  the  Grave 171 

On  the  Death  of  an  Infant 176 

To  a  Friend  in  Adversity 177 

The  Pearl 179 

The  Dying  Year 180 

We  shall  meet  again,  my  Brother 183 

The  Messenger-Bird 186 

The  Sower  and  the  Reaper 189 

Time's  Wing 192 

Forebodings 194 

"  Oh,  that  I  had  Wings  " 197 

Trust 199 

Fountains  in  the  Wilderness 201 

The  Harvest-Home 203 

The  Penitent's  Prayer 205 

A  Father  to  his  Erring  Child 207 

The  Sleeper 208 

Heaven 210 

The  Shepherd  of  Israel 211 

The  Pilgrim .  214 


THE    DUTCH   PILGRIM  FATHERS. 


HOW   Btrange    a   mixture   is   this    W(  b!  acn 

Worid! 
I     I  mean  the  Universal  Yankee  Nation, — 
The  J<         -  me  affirm,  by  tei  burled 

l-'rom  nal        worn  oat  in  the  earth's  rotation : 
Tribes,  kindreds,  tongues,  long-haired  and  woolly- 
curled, 
Torn  loose  from  every  part  of  the  creation, 
And  driven  or  drifted  here  across  the  ocean 
By  every  sort  of  wind  and  wild  commotion. 

The  Yankee  is  a  name  whose  origin, 

T  scientious  Muse  does  not  deny, 

I-  mixed  u]  •  with  original  Bin  : 

Ami  much  that  *  inal  must  lie 

Close  to  tli<*  Yankee  door,  if  not  within. 

And  haunt  some  folk,  like  gh<  sts,  I  efore  they  die, 

If  all  that  %  'it  them  be  half  true 

Of  what  I  'lone  and  what  they  mean  to  do. 


8  THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

Especially  they  who  've  had  the  face  to  claim 
The  original  Pilgrim  Fathers  as  their  own  ! 

I  speak  of  Yankees  now  per  se,  whose  name 
Suggests  a  sharpness  bred  in  skin  and  bone,  — 

A  sharpness  in  a  bargain  known  to  fame, 

And  keen,  sharp  idioms  in  twang  and  tone, — 

Of  all  that  tribe  and  people  known  as  folks 

Who  radiate  from  the  "  Hub''  like  living  spokes. 

These  mix  in  everywhere  in  lands  and  oceans, 
Restless  as  blood  is  in  its  natural  courses, 

Buying  up  townships,  selling  Yankee  notions, 
Now  laying  railroad  tracks,  now  selling  horses, 

Riding  to  power  on  partisan  commotions, 
And  prying  into  Nature's  secret  forces, 

To  force  them  to  their  purpose,  use,  and  plan, 

As  if  her  treasures  all  belonged  to  man. 

Thus     Yankees    have    become    the    nation's 
leaven, — 

The  blood,  as  one  might  say,  in  all  its  veins ; 
And    three   new   notions   to    the  world    they  've 
given, — 

That  man's  chief  end  consists  in  getting  gains, 
That  trade  is  happiness,  and  Boston  's  heaven. 

'T  is  thus  King  Yankee  o'er  the  nation  reigns, 
And  by  a  most  audacious  usurpation 
Has  stamped  his  very  name  upon  the  nation. 


Tin:  DUTCB  PILGBTU  iaThil  0 

i  whore  you  may  in  aim  y  Stat 

Throughout  the  tlni     .  m  it  was  oris, 
I     in  lumbering  Maine  unto  the  Golden  I 

You  '11  find  the  Yankee  claiming  it  as  his, 
And  all  th  therein  of  s     I  or  great 

1 1  iription  and  hi>  phi 

1  [e  '-  _  •■  i  rn  r,  teacher,  |  n  iicher,  keej  a  the  store, 
A  ill  (1  ts  of  things  and  can  do  more* 

All  which  from  the  mistake  must  surely  ] 

That  all  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  were  his  own, — 

T  ir  Dutch  Fathers  never  \    \. 

But  that  the  Mayfl  -  alone, 

And  left  the  Goed  Vrow  in  the  Zuyder  Z  ••■. — 
As  good  a  \  ver  known,  — 

Afraid  to  venture  out,  lest  Neptune's  wave 

Blight  prove  a  shaky  sort  of  pilgrim-8tav< 

ne  p  have  some  shame,  but  some  have  noi. 

take  their  own,  some  theirs  and  others'  too; 

The  g  who  lost  his  dainty 

By  '  rob  his  shadow  did  not  d 

A  i         r  thing  than  many  men  have  d  m  . 

Who    may  .    1:1,         ml    dog,    their    imam. 

rue  :  — 
By  claiming  all  g  >od  fathe  *,  great  and  -mail, 
It  may  turn  out  they  've  had  just  MMM  at  all. 


10  THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

The  old  Dutch  Pilgrims  were  a  solid  race, 

A  mixture  of  good  French  and  Holland  blood  ; 

Honest  enough  to  look  in  any  face, 

Fearless  to  brave  all  things  to  serve  their  God. 

Such  lineage  may  good  Knickerbockers  trace,  — 
To  noble  men  as  earth  have  ever  trod  ; 

And  yet  how  few,  with  ready  pen  or  tongue, 

Have  writ  their  virtues,  or  their  praises  sung ! 

Some  of  the  name  have  even  stood  aloof, 
Through  confused  notions  of  our  ancestry, 

Supposing  that  Old  Nick,  of  cloven  hoof, 
Was  head  and  founder  of  the  family ! 

To  contradict  which  nonsense  needs  no  proof 
Save  common  sense,  for  any  one  can  see, 

Unless  he  's  blind,  or  stupid  as  an  ass, 

Old  Nick  is  not  the  good  St.  Nicholas  ! 

How  strange  that  men  whose  fathers  braved  the 
sea 

To  sow  the  seeds  of  their  ancestral  fame 
And  clear  the  way  for  exiled  Liberty, 

Who  in  the  desert  lit  her  vestal  flame, 
And  formed  a  nation  where  all  men  are  free, 

Or  ought  to  be,  and  so  't  is  all  the  same,  — 
That  men  so  fathered,  having  pen  or  tongue, 
Should  leave  their  Pilgrim  ancestors  unsung. 


Till'   DVTCB  PILGRIM  FATHERS.  11 

I  Plymouth's  -  herwise  and  well. 

Oblivious  not  of  their  forefathers1  worth  ; 

Their  Pilgrim  names  are  told  by  every  bell, 
And  chimed  in  joyous  changes  round  the  earth. 

Parents,  their  children  teaching,  uNou>  do  idV 

Who  were  their  Pilgrim  Fathers,  from  their  hirth  ; 

And  tell  they  do,  from  Boston  to  Japan, 

That  every  Pilgrim  Father  was  a  man. 

Hut  had  ii"t  Knickerbockers  fathers  too, 

Who  cr  -   I  the  angry  ocean  in  a  ship? 

I  hid  tlie  Faderland  adieu, 
And  Bnap  their  fingers  at, the  tyrant's  whip, 
Ami  do  all  things  that  Pilgrims  ought  to  <lo, 

What  time  the  Goed  Vrow  ,_ave  the  Old  World 
the  slip  ? 
Is  there  no  rock  but  Plymouth  in  the  world 
'Gainst  which  a  Pilgrim  ship  ha         r  been  hurled? 

What  if  our  fathers  had  an  eye  to  trade 

While  with  their  breath  they  fanned  the  ^> 
flam   . 
And  with  Bhrewd  forecast  two  foundations  laid, — 

<>:  Temple  whenee  our  freedom  eame, 

,«1  oi1L«  for  <     amerce  where  our  money  's  made! 

L  Manhattan  bless  them  for  tl 

Ami  wi  the  hand  dares  ca<t  B         \G  at  this 

ibstratum  of  the  Great  Metropolis? 


12  THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

'T  is  true  their  faces  were  a  little  wide, 

And  not  set  like  the  flint,  as  they  should  be ; 

'T  is  true  they  had  a  weakness  in  the  side 
Which  let  all  sorts  of  folk  have  liberty : 

They  suffered  red-skin  Indians  to  abide 

On  their  own  lands  and  lakes  unharmed  and  free  ; 

And  Quakers  even,  and  witches,  in  their  bound, 

Whom  for  the   cause  they  should  have  hung  or 
drowned. 

They  left  the  Old  World's  foul  and  filthy  dens, 
And  came  across  to  find  the  clean  and  new ; 

They  left  their  native  flats  for  hills  and  glens, 
When  waves  beat  high   and   stormy  sea-winds 
blew  ; 

They  had  to  stow  quite  close,  like  sheep  in  pens, 
And  being  unused  to  sea,  got  sea-sick  too  ; 

And  had  a  voyage  I  do  not  know  how  long, 

And  therefore  cannot  put  it  in  my  song. 

They  suffered  inconvenience  from  the  cold, 

And  when  they  landed  found  a  backward  spring, 

And  all  the  New  World  different  from  the  Old ; 
And  many  things  had  they  forgot  to  bring, 

Which,  had  they  brought,  they  might  have  used  or 
sold ; 
And  met  a  most  outlandish  looking  king, 

With  lots  of  savage  Indians,  tall  and  red, 

Who  could  not  understand  a  word  they  said. 


Till    DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHERS.  19 

Then  tu  it  Qui  A         1  L  >w  Dutch  _r"t  broken, 

In  trying  to  make  the  Indians  understand 
The  meaning  of  the  words  thai  tongue  had  spoken, 

By  mixing  them  with        sis  of  the  hand, 
And  there  thej  _  I  their  cues  far  sign  ind  token, 

And  strai  _    d  >w  lights        iliar  to  the  land: 
But  none  can  tell  what  sights  our  fath<        iw 

out  the  Kollock  and  Communipaw* 

Bur  I  m  ahead  of  time,  and  mos<  go  back 

y  two  or  three  odd  hundred  yean  or  so, 
Like  Bhip  ai        that  takes  s  sudden  tack. 

But  still  she  knows  what  port  she  's  going  to  ; 
B  i  may  the  Muse  when  wind  is  head,  or  slack. 

To  reach  her  goal  heat  crosswise,  to  and  fir 
And  still  get  there,  wherever  that  may  be, 
Aj  sure  as  any  ship  that  sails  the  sea. 

u  Go,  seek  a  land       ond  the  setting  sun 

B ■■-■  :••  i  and  for  weary  man. 

Who  hath  a  task  which  here  cannot  be  don 

0]        ssed    and   tortured    since    tfa         rid    be- 
gan:— 

Go,  find  the  new,  the  old  forsake  and  shun  !  " 
Thus     day    and    night    the    sti         )     predict, 
ran, 
Which,  like  a  i:leam  of  light  athwart  the  seas, 
Inspire  I  and  led  the  dalin 


14  THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

"  As  dove  in  search  of  land  flew  from  the  Ark 
When  earth  was  deluged  with  the  penal  flood, 

So  from  this  Old  World,  for  its  vices  dark, 
Accursed  and  deluged  in  a  sea  of  blood, 

Go  thou,  to  seek  new  earth,  0  venturous  bark ! 
And  come  again  with  olive-branch  and  food, 

And  living  signs  of  land  at  length  revealed, 

Which  ages  past  have  covered  up  and  sealed. 

"  Thither  on  wings  the  persecuted  poor, 

Lashed  for  their  conscience  sake  and  love  of 
God, 

Shall  fly  for  refuge  to  an  open  door, 

And  gather  bread  from  most  prolific  sod, 

And  find  a  bulwark  on  the  rocky  shore 

Whereon  no  tyrant's  foot  hath  ever  trod,  — 

A  chosen  land  for  chosen  people  blest, 

The  latest  born  of  nations  and  the  best. 

"  The  latest  born  of  nations  and  the  best, 

The    poor   man's   country,   where    the   toiling 
hand 

Shall  reap  the  fruits  of  labor  and  its  rest ; 
For  they  shall  eat  the  fat  who  till  the  land 

In  that  strange  Country  of  the  distant  West  ; 
Before  whose  altars  all  shall  equal  stand, 

And  every  man  himself  and  conscience  own, 

And  have  no  master  but  his  God  alone. 


THE   l>  I  PILGRIM   FA  TBI  B  L5 

"  Y       hall  the  I  tevil  follow  in  the  ship 
That  1  mpin        r  the  de 

And  'mongst  the  wheat  hi  ms  tares  thai! 

Blip, 
Wl        fruits  of  wormwood  Bhall  the  people  reap, 

Of  bitter  scourge  and  God's  avenging  whip, 
Till  the  whole  Land  -hall  bow  its  head  and  wee]  ; 

And  furious  Btorm-winds,  rushing  from  the  North, 

Shall  like  a  besom  a       p  the  demon  forth. 

u  For  men  shall  not,  whom  God  hath  chosen  free 
To  form  a  nation  in  11  is  gl  ri  >us  name, 

Put  chains  on  otl        with  impunity, 

N         ■  •  ead  by  others1  sweat  and  shame, 

N  r  wear  the  fretted  garb  of  leprosy  ; 

]>eh«>H  !     \\\<  furnace  with  its  fiery  flame, 

■ 

lit  by  man's  breath  and  }>y  Bis  fury  fanned, 
S   all  melt  the  chains  and  purify  the  Lan  1. 

"Then  straightway  shall  the  b1  in, 

And  bright         ine  the  newly  risen  day 

That  sees  in  all  1  no  bondsman's  chain. 

Thus  War's  sharp  ploughshar    si  ill  pre]        the 

way 

V  r  T  I  Fre  tdom  with  their  ,Lr«>ldt'n  grain  : 

And  -  who         and  they  who  re 
From  N  5    ith,  fir       E  kting  sun. 

This  is  tl  L"id  our  God  hath  d«>ne  ! 


16  THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

"  And  firm  shall  stand  its  sure  foundation  rock, 
Unfissured  by  the  thunderbolts  of  war, 

Unmoved  again  by  earthquake's  rumbling  shock, 
Or  tempests  rushing  with  terrific  roar. 

Though  snake-haired  Furies  in  their  bloody  frock, 
With  face  and  feet  besmeared  with  human  gore, 

The  wedge  of  ruin  drive  to  split  the  Land, 

The  Rock  of  Union  shall  forever  stand  ! 

"  By  it  shall  grow  the  fair  fruit-bearing  tree, 
Around  it  climb  the  cluster-ripening  vine, 

And  from  its  base,  as  far  as  eye  can  see, 

Great  fields  of  wheat  in  golden  harvests  shine, 

And  happy  reapers  dance  in  rustic  glee, 
Rejoicing  in  their  corn  and  oil  and  wine  ; 

While  men  from  distant  lands  crowd  on  the  shore, 

Like  multitudes  who  throng  a  temple-door. 

"  0  happy  Land  !  well  may  her  sons  rejoice 
And  guard  with  jealous  hand  her  temple-gate  ! 

Well  may  they  lift  to  Heaven  their  grateful  voice 
For  goodly  heritage  and  treasure  great ! 

Sweet  Land  of  beauty  ;    Land   of  Heaven's  own 
choice, 
For  chosen  men  to  rear  a  glorious  State, 

Whose  sky  with  bow  of  promise  He  hath  spanned, 

That  War's  red  blood  no   more  shall  drown  the 
land. 


THE   DUTCH   PILGRIM   FATHER  17 

••  Stand  up,  <>  Land,  dressed  in  thy  robes  of  light, 

The  mantle  which  thy  <«<"1  hath  given  ti 

Go  forth,  0  Land,  and  conquer  in  thy  might 
A  world  of  slavi         <  tod  and  Liberty 

Shine  like  the  ri        sun  and  break  the  night ; 
Rise  to  thy  zenith,  that  th<       >rld  may 

Example  of  the  nation's        nd  birth, 

And  symbol  of  the  new-cr       I  earth  !  " 

Thus  ran  the  vision  in  those  ancient  time 

Which  saw  the  rista  leading  down  to  this  | 
Men  in  their  dr         heard  hells,  with  merry  chim 

Ring  forth  the  coming  •  of  golden  bliss. 
Which  .       hould  dawn  in  bright  and  distant  clim 

And  fill  the  new-bofn  earth  with  happiness  ; 

ten  with  bold  venture  found  the  world  at  lac 

Which  God  had  hidden  from  th  -  past. 

Meanwhile  the  Old  World  was  a  threshing-floor, 

And  tyrant-  in  God's  hands  were  willing  Hails 

That    tin-        I   the        d- wheat  for  our  western 
shore  ; 
The  winds  that  bore  to  Heaven  the  martyr's  wails 
Winnowed  the  wheat  from  chaff,  though  bruised 

lull    BO] 

Tl.  t  across  the  seas  in  stormy  gal< 

And  sown  in  tears  and  times  of  tribulation, 
S  on  sprouted  forth  into  a  growing  nation. 


18  THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

Not  suckled  by  she-wolves,  but  nursed  of  God, — 
Not  sprung  from  dragon's  teeth,  but   born  of 
love,  — 

And  men  of  gentle  peace,  not  men  of  blood, 
Whose   strange    device   was    nest   of  brooding 
dove, — 

Such  was  the  seed-corn  sown  in  virgin  sod, 

Which,  blest  with  rain  and  sunshine  from  above, 

Shall  bring  a  future  harvest,  whose  ripe  grain 

Shall  show  that  God  made  not  the  earth  in  vain. 

Shrill,  buzzing  fame,  like  a  great  beetle,  flies 
From  hill  to  hill,  from  dale  to  distant  dale, 

To  bore  the  earth  and  vex  the  impatient  skies 
With  names  of  men  who  ride  on  perfumed  gale, 

A^i  on  the  flowing  tide  of  fortune  rise, — 
Or  names  oblivious  to  the  widow's  wail, 

The  orphan's  tears,  and  brother's  slaughtered  blood, 

That  cry  against  them  to  an  angry  God. 

And  shall  the  trumpet  sound  no  fitting  peal 
For  our  forefathers'  most  heroic  deeds, 

Who  hushed  the  cry  of  the  avenging  steel 

Which  leaps  the  scabbard  when  Religion  bleeds, 

And  only  asked  a  silent  place  to  kneel,  — 

Who  humbly  sought  the  path  where  virtue  leads, 

And  took  with  joy  the  land  which  God  had  given 

To  rear  thereon  a  temple  meet  for  Heaven  ? 


TB   DUTCH  PILGRIM   FATBE1  19 

N  j  who  achiei  e, 

Bat  they  who  sutler  long  tndure, — 

Who        r  the  wrack  and  wrongs  thai  pain  and 

Y     k  ep  their  soula  serene  and  conscience  purr. 
And  a  it  in  life  what  they  in  heart  believe, 

Though  tyrants  threaten,  or  the  world  allure  :  — 
These    are    the   men    who,    though    unknown 

fam<  . 
Are  hei       worthy  an  immortal  name. 

Man  was  not  mad  i  a  trembling  >la\ 

To  fawn  ami  crii  ith  a  tyrant's  feet ; 

AW*  know  that  n        ire  not,  and  many  a  grai 

<  )f  hero-martyr  makes  the  proof  complete  : 
W       tp  the  ban   sta  of  the  free  and  brav< 

Wlio  groaned  and  toiled,  and  bore  the  cold  and 
heat. 
To  bow  tl:        ds  of  freedom  in  our  boQ, — 

We  eat  the  fruits  of  all  their  patient  toil. 

Thus  shall  it  W  l.rav  .      od  heai 

In  union  Btand  to  will,  to  do,  and  dan 
And  a-        bordinate  their        iral  \ 

•d    and    Preedom,  —  they    shall    triumph 
th 
Oi  o,  glaring  at  their  presence,  start 

And,  like  a  wild  bs  D  from  his  lair, 


20  THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

Stands  howling  for  a  time,  then  slinks  away, 
To  find  'mong  cowards  his  more  easy  prey. 

They  wear  the   crown  who  first  have  borne   the 
cross, 

And  many  a  joy  is  born  of  grief  and  pain  ; 
They  gain  the  most  ofttimes  who  suffer  loss,  — 

Who  give  a  present  good  for  future  gain  ; 
They  keep  the  gold  and  throw  away  the  dross, 

And  what  men  sow  they  also  reap  again  : 
The  tree  we  plant,  whate'er  that  tree  may  be, 
We  and  our  children  eat  of  that  same  tree. 

But,  hark !     What  mean  those  sullen  sounds  we 
hear  ? 

Low  rumbling  first,  but  now  more  fierce  and  loud, 
Now  seeming  distant,  then  approaching  near  :  — 

They  fall  upon  the  sea  from  yon  black  cloud, 
Which  fills  the  stoutest  sailor's  heart  with  fear, 

Who  sees  it  wrap  his  bark  as  with  a  shroud, 
And  hears  strange  voices  mingling  with  its  roar, 
Like  threatening  breakers  on  an  unknown  shore. 

The  ship  thus  surging  in  the  boiling  sea 

Is   our   Dutch   Pilgrim   ship !     She   hears   the 
cry 

Of  storm-fiends  shouting  in  their  revelry, 
Who  chide  the  ocean  from  the  murky  sky 


Tin:  urn  u  PILGRIM  FATHER  21 

r  letting       h  frail  bark  dare  go  Scot  fire 
And  winds  and  billows  Boon  ,Lret  still  more  hi_ 
And  mi  the  lone  ship  each  his  fury  vents 
Till  the  poor  thins  writhes  in  the  element 

To — 1  like  :i  plaything  on  the  mighty  d< 
What  now  awaits  her  but  a  water       ive  ? 
)\L  wide-mouthed  waves,  like  sharks  that  madly 

leap 
Upon  the  G     1  Vrow,  Bay,  what  skill  can  - 
Where  '-    Santa   Claus        Somewhere   no   doubt 
ip! 
That    friend  of  dreamy   Dutchmen,   stout    and 
l»ra\ 
Must  wake  up  Boon  and  cease  from  drowsy  Bnon 
>wn  tl     1 1     I  Vrow  sink<  to  rise  n«>  mor 

IIuz/        SI  To  port  tho  E^ilgrii 

Let  go  tl  e  anchor  !     Hills  and  valleys  rii 

With  louder  accents  than  the  fife  and  drum, 
And  every  brooklet  finds  a  sonj 
give  the  Bea-tossed  men  a  welcome  hom< 
But  fair  Manhatta,  daughter  of  a  king, 

-  out  her  arm-,  with  most  bewitching  smile, 

To  welcome  them  to  fa        tchanting  Me. 

Her  i  down       Sandy  Book, 

k  i      :   r  what  we  eall  in  modern  phlUfl 


22  THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

"  The  freedom  of  the  city."  —  which  they  took 
To  mean  possession  of  the  lands  and  bays 

Through  all  that  region  far  as  eye  could  look ;  — 
So  simple  were  the  Pilgrims  of  those  days  ! 

Construing;  thus  this  liberal  invitation, 

Some   think,  has    warped  the    conscience   of    the 
nation. 

Hence  came  the  Yankee  notion  that  our  right 

To  lands  and  seas  is  limited  alone 
By  boundaries  that  limit  human  sight, — 

That  all  creation  's  ours,  to  hold  and  own, 
Provided  we  have  arms  enough  and  might 

To  drive  the  tyrant  out,  or  idle  drone  ; 
For  rules  once  righteous  must  be  righteous  still, 
If  Pilgrim  Fathers  were  infallible. 

A  jackknife  for  a  township  !  —  quid  pro  quo  ;  — 
There  's  many  a  Co.  that  does  not  give  a  quid 

For  all  they  get  from  either  friend  or  foe. 

That 's  not  the  way  our  Pilgrim  Fathers  did  ! 

They  gave  for  all  they  got  the  price,  you  know, — 
They  took  the  township  at  the  highest  bid,  — 

'T  was  in  their  favor  that  the  land  wras  low  : 

'T  was  home-like,  —  like  the  land  in  Holland  so  ! 

Fair  Hudson's  banks,  the  loveliest  stream  that  flows, 
Were  rescued  from  wild  Indians  by  their  hands ; 


TE   DUTCH  PILGRIM   FA  THE* 

They  planted  Wall  Street  the  moi 

T    -  ial    r  golden  firui       *er  all  the  lands ; 

A  A  all  New  fork's  proud  pala 
From        le-ends  -  >wn  by  their  hand 

And  all  <>ur  Comme      .  Enter]  ri    ,  and  Trad  . 

Sprang  from  the  bargains  which  the  Pilgrims  made. 

h  was  the  freight  of  virtw  -  stowed  aboard 

The  old  Groed  Vrow  along  with  I  off, — 

The  things  ■    trade  with,  to  increase  their  hoard, 

And   little    Holland's,   should    the    way    pr 
rough  : 
They    brought    no    bij         thongs,    nor    tynu 
ord,  — 

I  HF  these  already  they  had  had  enough, 
And  ii«        thought  that  others  might         >und 
To  to  i  I  such  helps  to  keep  their  c       ience  sound. 

Th  it  out  hon         and  imlu.stry, 

And  plodding  ]  erance,  iron  Bhod, 

With  to  '1-  and  implemen  >r  fin 

To  plough  and  cultivate  the  virgin  sod, 

Ala  i  to  plough  and  cultivate  tb    sea; 

And  Holland-bricks  to  build  a  Bouse  for  God, 

And  all  n.  .     tall  and  great, 

lay  foundations  for  the  Empire  Si  tte. 


They  brought  the  spirit  of  Van  Tromp,  the  brai 
1 1  il  :i  A  Lmiral,  wb        bips  one  ih  gl 


24  THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

On  English  shores,  and  made  the  mad  bull  rave, 
When  at  mast-head  he  nailed  the  symbol  broom 

To  show  he  swept  the  seas  from  wave  to  wave, 
As  careful  housewife  sweeps  a  dirty  room ; 

Hence  New  York  masts  stand  thick  as  forest-trees, 

And  hence  our  conquering  navy  sweeps  the  seas. 

"  Een  draclit  maakt  macht" — In  Union  there  is 
might,  — 
Was   our  Dutch  Pilgrims'  motto.      Heart  and 
hand 
United  in  the  cause  of  God  and  right, 

Shall  bind  the  nation  with  a  granite  band 
Entwined    with    purest   flowers    and  wreaths    of 
light ;  — 
Divided  we  shall  fall,  united  stand  !  — 
God  bless  our  fathers'  memories  forever 
For    those    strong    words    that    bind    our    States 
together  ! 

United  Netherlands,  —  United  States, — 
Mother  and  daughter  they  must  surely  be. 

The  latter's  infancy  exactly  dates 

When  our  Dutch  Pilgrim  Fathers  crossed   the 
sea; 

Their  names,  their  principles,  their  water-rates, 
And  holding  on  forever  all  agree  ! 

Hence  not  a  State  can  from  the  Union  slip, 

So  strong  's  the  nation's  Knickerbocker  grip. 


THE   DUTCH  PILGRIM   I'M  Hi  i  2S 

The  bright-winged  angel  o\  ,  peaceful  dp 

Came  with  our  Pilgrim  Father  dee] 

And  followed  them  along  their  1        ful  Btrean 
T       se  their  lal        and  t  their  Bleep ; 

5     when  Tim  >'s  Locomotive  tears  and  Bcreau 
Like  fiend  let  loose,  upon  Earth's  back  to  leap. 

Their   children,   trained    to   keep   their   souls   at 
eas 

I),,  gently  Bleep,  let  Time  do  what  he  pie 

The  Mohawk,  Oaatskill,  Kingston  val< 

And  other  kindred  valleys  of  re] 
Where  Dutch  Content  Bat  down  amid  the  Bcei 

A 1 1- 1  i        fully  i       turling  Bmoke  aros 
Prom  men  and  chimneys  neither  tall  nor  lean, 

And  Kip  Van  Winklt  >k  their  quiet  <!<>- 

What  |         ful  nap-  from  Leth         rateful  cup 


Still  <lr<»wn<  dull         .  which  else  might  wake  th< 


up 


The  wild  disturbances  which  vex  the  nation, 
I."     adverse  winds  ;i^  b  rushing  ti«l 

T  gti  arp  of  angry  agitation 

That  pierce  like  arrows  Unci    5  muel's  hide, 

-  ireness  and  fierce  inflammation, 
And  symi       -  worse  unless  t        soon  buI 

These  thii        od  ol        aim  t<»  follow 

Coine  not  from  'Sopus,  nor  from  Sleepy  Boflow. 


26  THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

A  Knickerbocker  seldom  goes  astray  : 

Once  plant  a  Dutchman  and  he  's  always  there ! 

'T  is  true  Van  Buren  (Martin)  went  away 
From  home  to  take  the  Presidential  Chair, 

And  be  the  nation's  favorite  for  a  day ; 
But  cases  such  as  this  are  very  rare  : 

The  wisest  man  will  sometimes  be  a  fool, 

And  this  exception  proves  the  general  rule. 

Not  one  in  half  a  million  acts  like  Van, 
And  he  went  not  to  serve  a  second  term ; 

Since  Knickerbockers'  History  began 

They  Ve    squelched   Ambition    as    the    secret 
worm 

That  eats  the  bud  of  happiness  from  man, 
And  kills  Contentment  in  its  tender  germ ; 

Hence   few   have    been    induced    to   leave   their 
home 

To  sit  beneath  the  Capitol's  great  dome. 

But  now  and  then,  while  yet  't  was  no  disgrace 
To  be  a  member  of  the  Corporation, 

Some  good,  round  Dutchman  with  a  jolly  face, 
Fitted  by  nature  for  so  large  a  station, 

Was  seen  to  fill  an  Alderman's  fat  place, 
And  smoked  and  ate  the  aldermanic  ration, 

To  rule  the  City  with  a  tranquil  care, 

And  now  and  then  a  Dutchman  was  a  Mayor. 


THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHER  OT 

Manhattan  !    thou  art  DOi  what  thou  hast  been, — 

The  [ale  of  old-timed  men  and  honest  waj  -  : 
Thy  ancient  Btoope  arc  now  not  often       d  : 
Great  monster  docks  have  pierced  thyp       ful 
bays  : 
rows  of  streets  have  hid  thy  meadow  on; 

Thy  inwards  ramble  with  unnumbered  drays  ; 
And  it'  on        nvli  for  thy  old-fashioned  gables, 
He  finds  not  these,  but  to?  modern  Babels. 

In  years  I    .  _     ist,  in  ancient  virtuous  times, 
'T  was  s  adway, orhave  a  purse; 

But  now,  alas!  what  crowds  and  hid      3  crim 
Dam  all  that  Btreet,  and  fret  and  howl  and  em 

As  it"  thou  wast  a  scoop  t<»  Bcum  all  climes  ; 

While    every    year    they    Bay   then   Vt    growing 

worse, 
And  driving  folk  up-town,  firom  Btreet  t«»  Btreet, — 

An  1  1 1  Manhattan  !  thou  dost  not  smell  Bweet. 

Thy  ci'i/        ire  hurrie<l  to  and  fro, — 

Their  anxious  flesh  worn  off  close  to  the  bone 

Li]  lirits  from  the  world  of  W( 

V  seeking  n        id  finding  none ; 

ore  ^"V\\  and  weary  all  the  day  tl 
Nor  find  a  qu        leej  when  day  is  done, 

For  In;         hounds  all  night  prowl  at  their  door, 

I  with  food,  still  howling  out  E         re. 


28  THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM    FATHERS. 

'•  The  fat,  sleek-headed  man  who  sleeps  o'  nights," 
Says  Shakespeare,  "  does  no  harm  against  the 
State." 

u  The  man  who  weighs  ten  stone,"  so  Blackwood 
writes, 
"  Or  say  eleven  stone,"  good,  solid  weight, 

Will  neither  murder,  steal,  nor  mix  in  fights, 
As  lean  men  do  at  most  outrageous  rate  ; 

Which  facts  I  merely  state  in  this  digression, 

To  show  our  fathers'  virtue  of  digestion. 

For  they  were  men  of  good  and  wholesome  girth, 
Weighty  in  council.    Though  perhaps  they  stood 

Not  quite  among  the  tallest  men  on  earth, 

They  filled  a  wider  space  than  tall  men  could  ; 

And  by  all  rules  were  men  of  solid  worth, 
Who  knew  the  value  of  their  daily  food, 

For  which  they  prayed,  and,  when  they  got  the  best, 

Took  time  to  eat  and  inwardly  digest. 

How  blest  they  w7ere, — those  Pilgrim  days  of  old, — 
When  men  were  valued  for  themselves  alone, 

Not  weighed  and  measured  by  their  bags  of  gold, 
But  by  their  wreight  of  brains  and  flesh  and  bone 

Then  men  were  men,  not  what  they  bought  and  sold  ; 
But  men  are  worthy  now  by  what  they  own  : 

A  man  is  wTorth  as  much  by  this  new  plan 

As  he  can  money  make,  or  get,  good  man. 


DUTCH  PILGRIM   FA  Till  i 

M  Therefore, get  rich!'   the  father's  fond  advi 
••  Father,  1  11  trj        the  obedient  Bon  replies, 

And  turn        selling     >tton-]        and  rice, 
While  every  nobler  aspiration  die 

He  prays  in  -  for  the  golden  d 

Aii'l  rives  his  heart  and  soul  t<>  m  xchandis 
itli  a  double  hand  i  I  tab 

Th  •  garni  ler*a  hazards  and  I       gambler's  -       ». 

Get  rich,  get  quickly  rich  !  or  right,  _. — 

When  done  it  m        -  not  a  great  deal  which; 

Men  will  not  Bto]       ask,  but  join  the  throo 
Of  anxious  bees  hurrying  to  be  rich  : 

All  turn  I  ship,  with  obsequious  song, 

The  golden  image  in  its  ivory  niche  : 

I     t  rich,  therefore,  you  need  not  mind  tl 

If  you  hut  tal.        or  niche  among  the  blest 

The  tat  man  grows  dyspeptic,  lean,  and  old, 
And  lean,  ambitious  (       ius  leaner  still. 

Doomed  to  the  tread-mill,  grinding  out  of  gold, — 
tndemned  t<>  tread  this  everlasting  mill, — 

And  hrar  a  load  that  grows  an  hundred-fold, 
Bach  year  by  year,  till  golden  burdens  kill; 

I  wonder  that  their  feces  always  wear 

3  of  the  gnawing  worm  and  earkin_r  care. 

At  last,  Prometheus-like,  they  re  bound  with  chains 
To  golden  rocks  within  a  golden  river, 


30  THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

And  every  muscle  in  their  body  strains, 

While  cares,  like  vultures,  eat  away  their  liver, 

And  vile  dyspepsia,  with  its  Protean  pains, 
Gnaws  at  their  vitals  always  and  forever. 

Such  doom  have  they  whom  half  the  world  ad- 
mire, 

Like  his  who  stole  from  heaven  forbidden  fire. 

I  would  that  men  were  fat  and  slept  o'  nights, 
And  ate  their  dinners  as  good  Christians  should, 

Giving  the  inward  man  his  natural  rights,  — 
An  easy  conscience  and  digestion  good ; 

I  would  the  restless  hound  that  snarls  and  fights, 
And  gulps  with  hungry  growl  his  meal  unchewed, 

Then  barks  all  night,  were  driven  from  the  door, 

And  good  old  Watch  were  dozing  there  once  more. 

The  wheels  of  Progress  might  go  back  somewhat 
And  we  be  gainers  by  the  backward  track ; 

Howe'er  we  like  the  racer's  rapid  trot, 
Yet,  if  we  lose  our  course,  let  us  go  back, 

And,  tracing  till  we  find  the  erring  spot, 

Take    the    right   road,   then    give    the  whip  a 
crack ; 

If  we  do  this,  we  '11  find  the  better  ways 

Our  honest  fathers  travelled  in  their  days. 

Let 's  back  to  Sleepy  Hollow  !  shut  the  door 
Against  the  selfish  turmoil  of  the  world ! 


TE    DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATB  31 

II.  t  days  arc  like  the  days  of  yor 

What  time  th     3  from  Pilgrim  pipes  up- 

arie  1 : 

II.        Men  oust  'in-  with  their  whilom  l"1 

Will  -taiul  till  earth  be  from  its  eou         burled, 
An<l.  lib     _  round  :  the 

1  bless  th  J  doc 

I  [(  •  Quiet  k«  il  in 

AipI  old  Antiquity  still  holds  his  own  : 

II  v  one  has  time  to  eat  and  r  st, 
For  calm  Contentment  n       upon  his  thron 

Dull  Can    a   tarred  from  i       y  humai  it, 

And  not  a  hoi  rer  overblown, 

Where  virtues  of  the  Past  like  exiles  rail 
In  th  a  t  haunts,  —  this   Rip  Van  Winkle 

valley. 

il    f  the  Pilgrims  hov<         ill 
Within  tl        mnny  1.  ly  walks; 

y  lulling  -rill. 

The  stalwai  ult  apparii  Iks, 

Turns    spinning-wl  haunl      the    old    water- 

mill, 
And  talk-   L  tw-Dutch, —  or  thinks,  good  soul  ! 
he  tall 

Th        tcient  tongue,  —  that  he  may  thereby  Bhow 
1 1  1  her>        i  hundred  y< 


32  THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

0  venerable  Dutch  Tongue  of  Santa  Claus ! 

Thou  sweetest  jargon  of  all  human  sounds 
That  ever  clattered  from  unbroken  jaws  ! 

How  every  Knickerbocker's  heart  abounds 
With  ghosts  of  joys  as  thick  as  eggs  in  Paas, 

Or  cabbages  which  crowd  his  garden  grounds, 
When  he  recalls  to  mind  thy  Pilgrim  sprutter,  — 
But  thou  art  dead! — farewell,  thou  splitter  splut- 
ter! 

Each  ample  farm-house  covers  much  of  ground, 
But  not  ambitious  seems  to  reach  the  skies  ; 

In-doors  the  old  clasped  Bible  still  is  found, 
And  busy  housewife  still  her  knitting  plies ; 

Though  spinning-wheels  give  not  their  whilom  sound, 
Yet  these  do  sometimes  from  their  graves  arise  ; 

And  on  u  the  stoop,"  though  now  without  his  queue, 

The  old  man  smokes  his  pipe,  —  the  young  may  too. 

Here  Paas  still  comes  around  from  year  to  year, 
With  lapful  of  cooked  eggs  all  fresh  and  free, 

And  colored  gayly  as  old  chanticleer 

Could  wish  the  gayest  of  his  sons  to  be,  — 

With  strange  devices,  old  and  quaint  and  queer ; 
Then  all  eat  eggs.     Then  youngsters  u  crack ' 
to  see 

Whose  shells  are  hardest,  and  the  hard-shell  takes 

The  cracked  ones  as  his  rightful  prey,  or  stakes. 


/.   OUTCB  PILGRIM  IWTHI  L 

And  Pinxter,  -     en  ireekfl  later,  robed  in  whil 

I  in  her  festal,  — -  pure  mi 

From    dairies    which         1    Brindle,   Crumphorn, 
Bright, 

( >M  Streak, and  Limeback, — all  thai  host  supplies. 
Th  1  on  Bnowy  linen  clean  a        lit 

When  first  it  falls  untinted  from  the  skies, 

lord  a  i        for  men  outside  and  in, 
Which  shames  the  dirt  and  gluttony  of  sin, 

II  —  in    tl.  et     i 

— 

A  1:  ,  afar  from  glory's  bubble 

Of  an  Hock  born  and  happy  loves  ;  — 

Not  marriage-bonds  to  make  a  fortune  doubl 
With  costly  symbol  of  tho  doves 

Tl.  d  nes       '  thor         hatch  out  troubl 

Through  all  these  haunt-  still  broods  the  living  d( 
That  builds  her  nest  of  down  and  mat        r  love. 

Then  the  frugal  hoi  ice,  and  t' 

•1  maidens  laughing  on  the  im 
Whose  c  .-tint  id  spent 

And  days  ith  that  whilom  c  n 

Maturity  an«l  childhood's  innocence, 

With  -ill  their  fragrant  b  ill  ar       m  ; 

Pof  girls  are  girls  in  this  old-fashioned  glen, 
And  thej'fe  grown  up  men. 


34  THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

Our  youth,  like  wormy  pears,  are  ripe  too  soon, 
And  fall  untimely  ere  they  're  fully  grown  ; 

Their  autumn  fruits  are  forced  to  come  in  June, 
By  hot-house  art,  from  seeds  too  early  sown ; 

And  all  their  life  's  a  fiddle  out  of  tune  ; 

Like  quails,  scarce  hatched  before  they  're  fledged 
and  flown, 

They  pass  away,  and  in  their  place  we  find 

Mere  shells  of  men,  or  dwarfs  in  frame  and  mind. 

Man  at  the  best 's  a  bubble  on  the  stream, 
With  many  colors  sparkling,  till  the  breath 

That  filled  forsakes  it.     While  he  tries  to  dream 
From  what  dark  shore  he  came,  and  whither  death 

Will  drive  him  at  the  last,  this  bubble's  gleam 
Has  vanished  in  the  vortex  far  beneath ! 

Proud   Man !    he   breathes,  weeps,  creeps,  walks, 
laughs,  and  cries, 

Gets  rich  and  great, — or  tries  to, — and  then — dies  ! 

Yes.     Man  's  a  mystery  !     And  woman  too, 
With  all  her  sweet  dependence  and  her  sighs  ! 

The  weaker,  yet  the  stronger,  she  can  do, 
Undo,  build  up,  pull  down,  whate'er  she  tries ; 

Can  sink  the  fallen  world  to  deeper  woe, 
Or  raise  it,  robed  in  beauty,  to  the  skies  : 

Sweet  flowers  spring  up  where'er  her  footsteps  move, 

And  nations  follow  at  her  wTord  of  love. 


THE  Dl         !  PILGRIM  FAT0ER8. 

What  i        rful  weakness  aigha  in  gay  attun 
What  Btrength  of  >ilk  surrounds  the  tender 
heart, 

And  flaming  ril       -  clothe  ethereal  fir 
What  natural  b  and  i       immate  art. 

Re]  elling  1  re,  yet  drawing  him  still  nigher,* 
To  hear  in  angel  tones  his  doom,  ••  Depart !  " 

Till  -  ■  titled  bear,  from  foreign  land, 

Asks  for  her  M<  n   1  money  and  her  hand  ! 

ae  not  to  th<         questered  land  ! 
Bat  prowl  and  prey  in  the  Metropolis. 
Thy  simple  maiden  takes  her  lover's  hand 
When  he. has  gained  her  heart  and  given  hi 

Then    round   them  falls  from   1  leaven  the  mystic 

band 

Which  binds  their  hearts  in  one  forwoe  Or  bli     . 
And  each  beholds  in  each  the  treasure  li 

That  all  the  wealth  of  citie  ild  not  buy. 

By  such  quaint  customs  fastened  in  this  nook 

Its  unsophisticated  folk  are  bound. 
They  get  their  manners  from  an  ancient  Bool 

Believing  all  things  on  ind, 

While  day  and  night  among  its  leaves  they  look, 

As  if  for  treasure  hidden  in  the  ground, 
And  8  vnth,  called  tl     5  tbbatfa  1  >:iy, 

They  rest  from  work  an<l  _:<>  to  Church  t<»  pray. 


36  THE%  DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

The  "  Tv&OZ  %zavTi6v  "  of  Delphic  shrine, 

The  "  Know  Thyself,"  might  teach  some  heathen 
men 

Of  Christian  lands  to  reverence  laws  like  thine, 
And  take  the  Lamp  that  lights  thy  happy  glen, 

To  learn  of  human  things  and  things  divine, 
And  trace  the  path,  unknown  to  mortal  ken, 

That  doth  the  chasm  'twixt  earth  and  heaven  span, 

And  leads  to  pearly  gates  the  trusting  man. 

Proud  man  knows  not  himself,  nor  can  he  tell 
The  secret  life  of  trees,  nor  can  unfold 

The  knowledge  hid  within  an  insect's  cell ;  — 
The  art  of  honey-making  's  very  old, 

Yet  only  bees  can  make  it  very  well ; 

But  though  these  simplest  things  he  leaves  untold, 

Man,  like  a  glowworm,  holds  above  the  sod 

His  little  lamp  to  dim  the  Light  of  God  ! 

Not  so  the  good  and  humble  men  of  yore 

Who  planted  truth  in  each  fair  field  and  grove 

Which  yields  to  thee  its  consecrated  store. 

They  took  the  Lamp  which  Heaven  hung  out  in 
love 

For  erring  feet  that  they  might  err  no  more, 
And  walked  the  shining  way  to  realms  above. 

Their  footprints  still  along  thy  paths  are  seen, 

Near  living  founts  and  spots  of  evergreen. 


THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM   FATHEI  37 

1  made  th    C  untry, —  'tis  the  house  Hen 
T    show  His  glory  in  its  myriad  forms; 
1 1  ivin  I  It*  most  abides       1  is  most  f        1  : 

Here  in  si  1  lis  \  oice  ia  heard  amid  tli  ms  ; 

Here  all  His  sunlight  comes  when  skies  ai        ared, 

And  the  whole  house  illumin        and  warn.- ; 
But  pent-up  cities  which  men*-  hands  haw  built 
at  His  Bun  with  walls  of  human  guilt. 

The  Pilgrims  the  fields  and  walked  with  God. 

\V        ght  do  n     s    than  guid         patient  plough 
In  tl.        ae  furrows  which  their  feet  have  trod. 

And  earn  our  bread  by  3     at  of  b<         brow  ! 
Great  men  of  old  came  from  the  humble  s<>d, 

N  it  shunned  the  wholesome  boil,  as  men  do  now, 
Which  nourish  I  stalwart  souls,  more  worth  than 

alth. 
And  knit  their  bodies  firm  with  cords  of  health. 

Pan  is  an   '  _th  of  nations  and  their  lite  ; 

The  poisoned  air  comes  not  from  ruggi  I  hills ; 
N  •       in  th<       n-clothed  ralley  springp  the  knife 

That  stalks  at  night  with  crime  and  \  and 

kills  : 
N  >r  do  the  bitter  wai     9  of  our  stri: 

t      .  shady  fountains  tl<»w  and  crystal  rills; 
But  earth,  sir,  -ky,  on  well-tilled  farm. 

Co:  md  guard  t;  m  from  all  harm. 


38  THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

Farms  are  the  life  of  nations.     All  we  eat, 

Drink,  wear,  and  use,  —  all  cattle,  horses,  flocks, 

Fruits,  berries,  grasses,  oil,  and  wine,  and  wheat, 
The  worshipped  gold  itself,  and  other  rocks, 

Ships,  houses,  steamers,  navies  strong  and  fleet, 
Commerce,  that  braves  all  oceans'  stormy  shocks, 

And  all  good  things  which  for  our  use  abound, 

First  come  from  Heaven,  then  spring  up  from  the 
ground. 

There  is  a  virtue  in  the  well-owned  farm 
Besides  the  sweet  rewards  of  honest  toil, 

Besides  the  breath  of  Nature  and  her  charm, 
That  springeth  forth  like  life  from  out  the  soil. 

Sedition  comes  not  thence  with  bloody  arm, 
Nor  rushing  violence  and  mad  turmoil  : 

So  Aristotle  taught  in  ages  past, 

And  the  same  truth  will  all  the  ages  last. 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  plough  and  spade, 
In  our  own  soil  upturned,  our  springing  corn,  — 

In  garden-beds  which  we  ourselves  have  made, 
And  ripened  fruits  which  our  own   trees  have 
borne,  — 

To  hear  our  hens  rejoice  o'er  eggs  just  laid, 
And  our  own  roosters  crowing  in  the  morn, 

And  our  o^Yn  porkers  grunting  in  their  pens, 

Unknown  to  City  pent-up  denizens  ! 


THE   DUTCB  PILGRIM   l' Mill  l 

\Vli..  takes  a  farm  is  halfway  back  to  Eden, 
Though  Eden  may  ill  a  great  wa\ 

Who  ]  >und   himself,  and  puts  I 

seed  in. 
May  fin  1.  at  first,  the  business  rather  roug 

And  rougher  still  will  be  the  hoe  and  weediug  ; 
B  it   then   his   blistered   hands   will  booh   grow 
tough  : 

And  not  since  Adam's  has  man's  labor  gi?< 

M  ire  pleasant  news  than  this  of  earth  and  heav< 

But  I  have  not  a  farm.     I  wish  I  had  ! 

••  A  little  farm  well-tilled,  a  wif       ill-willed," 
A  roe     _    1  or  two,  and  tough-limbed  lad. 

To  climb  the  trees  with  ripened  cherries  filled, 

Would  not,  I  reckon,  make  me  very  Bad  ! 

With   hands    enough,    good-natured  and   well- 
tiled, 
To  do  the  work,  bow  sweet  would  be  the  charm  ! 
O  bon  I  long  at  tii  les  to  have  a  farm  ! 

To  have  a  farm  s        day  is  mv  intent, 
In  I  valley  by  the  Pilgrims  blest  ; 

Where  tre  -  still  _     a  the  way  the  twigs  ar 
A  od  t;  » done,  to  take  my  n 

I ']  mill  the  way  i         thers  went, — 

If  their  way  was  the  st  and  the  best:  — 

In  Bhort,  I  mean  my  anc  to  foil" 

An' I  settle  down,  at  last,  in  £  Hollow. 


40  THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM   FATHERS. 

And  then —  Good  Night !     'T  is  late,  or  I  would 


sing 


Of  all  our  Pilgrim  Fathers  did  and  said,  — 
What  goods  they  brought  and  what  they  did  not 
bring, 
And  how  they  brewed  their  ale  and  baked  their 
bread, 
And  why  they  did  not  kill  the  Indian  king, 

Whose  ugly  red-skin  subjects  scalped  the  dead, 
But  took  revenge  in  trade,  —  the  busy  hive  !  — 
In  which  shrewd  way  they  skinned   whole   tribes 
alive. 

How  much  wild  beasts  annoyed  them,  tame  ones 
too, 
Ghosts,  witches,  wraiths,  and  Yankee  tricks  and 
fights, 
Owls,  nightmares,  omens,  candles  burning  blue, 

Strange  Jack-o'-lanterns,  and  that  sort  of  sights  ; 
How  oft  they  knew  not  what  on  earth  to  do, 

How  oft  were   chased  home   by   the   Northern 
Lights, 
And  when  they  could  not  sleep  lay  wide  awake, — 
All,  all  for  us,  —  for  our  ungrateful  sake  ! 

I  would  delight  to  tell,  if  I  had  time, 

How  Santa  Claus  came  with  them  o'er  the  deep 
To  mollify  the  rigors  of  our  clime, 

To  teach  good  Dutchmen  how  to  eat  and  sleep, 


THE   DUTCB  PILGRIM   FAT  Hi  /  11 

li  other  without  harm  or  crin 
Their  wagon-wheels  in  well-worn  rots  to  k< 
And  guide  them  in  tl  •   g     I  old  ways  of  yor 
In  which  their  fathers'  n  went  befoi 

With  what  Ay  ru        ad  wise,  recondite  saws, 
Ilf  fills,  on  Christmas-Eve,  the  children's  hoe 

With  i  please  the  arching,  just  becau 

lit-  loves  with  all  his  heart  each  child  he  knov 

And  how  the  children  lo  1  Santa  Clau 

Th  >ugh  they  have  never  Been  him,  I  suppose; 

Set  him   through   the   Country,   more   and 

mor<  . 

A-  children  never  loved  a  Saint  before. 

And  how  he  instituted  New-Year'«  calls 

the  kn<>t  of  Friendship  once  a  year. 
And  mend  it-  breaches,  rent  by  windy  squalls, 
With  -       fcened  pastry  and  such  dainty  gear; 

1  true  I     .  until  the  palate  palls, 
With  kruller,  olekook,  and  doughnut  cheer; 
A  id  make  the  whol  ■  with  the  ja 

ind  youth  and  jolly  older  b    i. 

But  what  '-  the  i  Enough  that  you  have  seen 

Anotle  .   Pilgrim  ship  and  Pilgrim  band 

Come  o'er  the  billows  blue,  or,  are  they  s       1 1 
X  :ni  ire  in  OUT  Land. 


42  THE  DUTCH  PILGRIM   FATHERS. 

Yes !     Though  old  Plymouth  burst  with  envious 
spleen, 
Our  good  Dutch  Pilgrim  Fathers  are  at  hand, 
To  take  their  share  of  that  illustrious  name 
Too  long  monopolized  by  Yankee  claim. 

The  force  centrifugal  of  Yankee  blood, 
Like  water  from  a  grindstone  flying  off, 

When  mixed  with  Dutch  centripetal  is  good. 
The  one  the  other  may  not  scorn,  nor  scoff; 

Nor  could  we  now  unmix  them  if  we  would ;  — 
The  two  combined  have  made  us  fast  and  tough, 

Conservative,  progressive,  quick  and  strong, 

(I  've  thought  that  of  the  Yankee  all  along.) 

Our  Nation's  blood  is  made  of  all  the  best, 
The  Knickerbocker,  Huguenot,  the  Scot, 

French,  English,  Irish,  German,  and  the  rest, — 
Phlegmatic,  sanguine,  lukewarm,  cold,  and  hot, 

Drawn  by  the  tide  of  empire  to  the  West, 
And  here  compounded  in  the  chemist's  pot, 

The  scum  thrown  out,  and  all  the  nobler  part 

Poured  fresh  into  America's  young  heart. 

Her    heart    thus    formed,  —  the   many   bound    in 
one, — 
Has  stood  the  test  of  young  and  prosperous 
years ; 


Till:    I)  !   PILGRIM    FATlll  L 

And  quailed  not  in  the  storms  which  hid  her  boo 
And  wakened  tyrants'  hopes  and  cowards1  fea 

Nor    shrunk    from    painful    tasks   which    needs   be 

done 

That  they  may  reap  injoy  who  BOW  in  tears  ] 
N         ared  tlie  lightnings  which  precede  the  rain 
That  tails  to  bless  the  newly  planted  grain. 

With  simple  trust  in  <>ur  forefathers'  God, 

And  in  her  starry  flag  whose  stars  of  gold 
Grei       _htrr  in  the  years  of  fire  and  Mood, 
.  like  M  in  the  da  old, 

Toe         the  Red  Sea  with  the  Bacred  rod, 
X    give  deliverance  to  a  ransomed  fold, 
And  el« -a         pathway  through  the  crimson  waves 
F  ri  *fl  triumph  and  for  tyrant-'  _.  t 

Bh<        id-  upon  the  Mood-eeamed  granite  block, — 

The  oorner-e        of  our  storm-smitten  si       . — 

•auty  'mid  the  earthquake  sh«-ek. 
Th  t'fi  .  and  fierce,  raging  war : 

And  th  hall  stand,  on  this  firm  Union  rock, 

(  I  in  strength  till  time  shall 

If  grac        her  uplifted  hand-  von 

To  hold  them  up  in  reverent  pray  iven. 

0  d       her  heart  heat  always  for  the  right  ! 
1  may  her  heart  be  always  jost  and  tru« 


44  7  HE  DUTCH  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

May  her  fair  brow  be  bound  with  wreaths  of  light ; 

And  her  right  hand,  heroic,  dare  to  do 
Whate'er  she  ought  to  do,  with  all  her  might, 

Till  the  Old  World  be  ransomed  by  the  New ! 
Whoever  goes  for  this,  I  'm  with  liim  there, 
No  matter  who  his  Pilgrim  Fathers  were. 


ON  THE  ADVANTAGE  OF  KEEPING  ONE  EYE 

HI  IT. 

Tin-:  question  of  Hamlet,  whether  "  T 
Or  not."  <        Shak<        ure,)  does  aot  trouble  m< 
Though  1  "in  glad  it  pr        I  Hamlet,  for  thereby 
have  V 

st  famous  Soliloquy, 
Like  wine  from  ripe  grapes  by  the  wine-press 
fin 
me  hearts,       ath  a  \  ress  ure  of  sorrow  or  glee, 
Give  wine  for  the  world  of  humanity, 
And  Hamlet,  poor  prince  !  a  ich  a  pressure  had  he* 

But  h«       -  a  commons  stion,  —  i.  <?., 

U  it  b  (Mr  not  Bee, 

In  order  to  pass  your  life  pleasantly 
In  other  words,  whether  the  mi        1  key, 
Loi  _  -  tarched         ut  hi<l  in  dark  mystery, 
Th  is  the  locked-up  castle  of  bliss, 

May  not  (and  I  hope  yoa  '11  think  about  thi 
Be  all  in  the  eye,  as  the  eye  's  in  its  socket, 
Instead  of  the  golden  key  in  one's  pocket. 


46  ON   TEE  ADVANTAGE 

The  question  is,  Whether  't  is  better  and  wise 
For  one  with  a  good  pair  of  natural  eyes, 
To  close,  —  for  the  sake  of  his  own  peace  of  mind, 
And  also,  the  general  peace  of  mankind,  — 
To  close  up  one  eye  and  let  it  go  blind  ? 
A  singular  course,  and  yet  for  a  sample 
We  've  only  to  look  at  Nature's  example, 
Who  shuts  up  her  eyes  on  the  folly  and  crime 
Of  the  whole  darkened  earth  one  half  of  the  time. 
The  King  of  Day  does  the  very  same  thing ; 
He  sits  like  a  cock  with  head  'neath  his  wing, 
As  if  to  avoid  the  tumult  and  strife 
That  torture  his  eyes,  just  half  of  his  life  ; 
And  Sleep  draws  her  curtains  between  our  own  sight 
And  our  upside-down  world  full  half  of  the  night. 
The  lesson  from  which  must  certainly  be, 
'T  is  best  for  the  eye  not  always  to  see, 
Not  only  for  rest,  but  for  sweet  charity. 

You  've   heard  of  the  tailor  who  took  up  his 
shears, 
A.nd  prudently  cut  oifone  of  his  ears, 
So  that  it  might  thence  unto  all  men  appear 
That,  since  he  had  only  one  single  ear, 
He  only  one  half  what  was  said  could  hear. 
His  helpmeet,  who  gave  him  a  piece  of  her  tongue, 
Hurled  through  her  shrill  mouth  from  top  of  her 
lung, 


KEEPING       !  El  /.  17 

Like  shot  from  a  mortar  of  iron  or  bra* 
And  report  like  the  bray  of  an  angry  jacka 
[a  proof  that  a  shrew  with  half  of  her  tongue, 
I  lr  one  of  the  siz  i  she  handled  when  young, 
I-  better  by  Par  in  such  a  condition. 
Than  if        had  all  of  her  ammunition. 

There  'a  many  a  naughty  and  venomous  word 
Which  cornea  in  th<'  car  had  best  not  be  heard; 
And  many  a  word  that  springs  to  the  t  rogue, 
Had  better  die  there,  like  a  boi         i\  'a  unsung 
Than  come  forth  like  hornet  to  buzz  on  the  wing, 
An  I  zad  all  about  for  chances  to  sting. 

And  much  there  is  -  <n  by  visions  too  keen 
That  better  }>y  tar  had  never  been  se  -n. 
Though  closing  our  eyes  'gainst  all  -        of  evil 
Would  humor  too  well  its  old  father,  the  Devil; 
To  close  up  and  open  the  other 

To  faults  of  1  friends  and  sad  erring  brother. 
Aii  1  servan  home,  and  Bailors  at  ><ka. 
And  darling  pet-child,  is  wise  as  can  be; 
For  what  you  do  e  >u  must  reprimand 
By  word  of  reproof,  or  else  of  maud  ; 
And  too  much  of  this,  like  the  drugs  that  we  take 
For  vigorous  health  and  Longevity's  sake, 
If  well  understood, 

Will  lose  all  their  power  to  do  any  good. 

Old  Captain  AfcKin,  of  the  whaler-ship  Ann% 


48  ON   THE  ADVANTAGE 

And  formerly  mate  of  that  old  tub,  the  Fan, 

A  regular  salt,  is  as  noble  a  man 

As  ever  was  built  on  the  old  whaler  plan, 

To  be  launched  on  the  boisterous  ocean  of  life, 

And  afterwards  on  the  billows,  whose  strife, 

To   wit  —  the    fierce    quarrels    of    Neptune    and 

wife, 
Gave  the  rough  sea  of  life  its  turbulent  name. 
Old  Captain  McKin  is  a  whaler  whose  fame 
Came  out  of  the  sea,  as  the  up-rising  flame 
Of    morning's    bright    sun,    and    his    money    the 

same,  — 
Which  money  he  salted  as  fast  as  it  came. 
Most  tars  for  a  contrary  course  are  to  blame  ; 
Of  Davy  Jones'  locker  their  cash  is  the  game, 
Or   landsharks    and    such,  —  much    more   is    the 

shame  ! 
From  a  dozen  years  old  wThen,  a  cabin-boy  lubber, 
He  first  hoisted  sail  on  a  voyage  for  blubber, 
A  sample  of  which  he  poured,  as  he  started, 
In  the    ears  of  the  friends  from  whom  he  then 

parted,  — 
From  a  dozen  years  old  to  full  sixty-three, 
Old  Captain  McKin  has  followed  the  sea  ; 
Far  up  in  the  North,  far  down  in  the  South, 
In  the  eye  of  the  wind,  in  the  hurricane's  mouth, 
In  summer,  in  winter,  in  calm  and  in  gale, 
Old  Captain  McKin  has  hunted  the  whale. 


KEEPINi  I  VI    SHUT. 

But  what  1  'in  about  with  Captain  McKin 
I<  his  i!  >wer  of        '    ' 

A  worthier  i        tin  do  shi]         p  had  : 

id  all  the  sailors, —  the        1  and  the  bad, — 
id  all  the  owners,  and  Bharp         t  glad. 
When  th        iw  his  ship  come  in  and  make  fast, 
With  oil  fr  >m  her  keel  to  her  top-gallant  mast. 

The  I  of  <  laptain  McKin, 

< )['  hi  fill  power  of  _  sciplin 

T      <  ';i:  tain,  by  way  of  ready  repl  , 
Fir-    _  a  wink,       if  on  the  dy, 

Then  ]  ir.  and  closed  up  one  ey 

►eking  the  other,  seemed  quizzing  the  >ky! 

Thus  Bt 1  he  till  half  a  minute  p        I  hy  ; 

Then,  turning  a  comical  look  upon  me, 

8  id,    ••  That   is   the   way,    sir,    to    govern    the 

First  know  how  to  steer  your  two         "  ansn 

he, 
"  An«l  y<>n  ran  rule  men,  whoever  they  1 
man  _    a  whale-ship,  I  think,  easily. 
1  v  when  to  douse  your  own  Bkylight-glim, 

And  figure-head  windows  ma  and  <lim, 

When  .ia<_k  is  afiraid  that  \*>n  're  looking  at  him, 
Why  that  is  tl.        iret  of  keeping  .lack  trim. 
And   thru,   when   he  's  doing  the   thing  that  is 

rigfct, 
Bear  down  on  him  then  with  all  your  i        _rht, 

4 


50  ON   THE  ADVANTAGE 

Like   a  ship  when  she  steers  for  a  home-beacon 

Hght, 

And  Jack  soon  becomes  a  lamp  in  the  night,  — 
Dim  sometimes,  you  know,  but  oftener  bright. 
You  must  have  your  rules,  and  must  steer  by  these  ; 
But  't  wont  do  to  see  all  the  didoes  one  sees,  — 
The  trifles  on  shipboard  that  harass  and  tease, 
The  least  little  caper  that  does  n't  quite  please ; 
If  you  do  so,  your  orders  are  n't  worth  a  good 

sneeze ; 
Your  ship  gets  aback  in  a  contrary  breeze, 
And  groans  with  a  sort  of  asthmatic  wheeze, 
Like  ghosts  in  the  night  in  your  landsmen's  old 

trees  ; 
She  soon  gets  the  scurvy  and  weak  in  the  knees ; 
The  weather  grows  cold  and  threatens  to  freeze, 
And  whales  get  as  scarce  as  the  green  captain's 

cheese. 
Eyes  open  and  shut  just  when  they  should  be, 
Is  the  right  way  to  govern  a  ship  on  the  sea,  — 
'T  was  the  one  only  way  would  answer  for  me, 
And,   shipmate,  I  'm    now  more   than  full  sixty- 
three  ! " 
The  above  was  the  answer  of  Captain  McKin 
Concerning  his  secret  of  good  discipline. 

I  've  been  with  McKin  a  good  deal  since  then, 
And  find  that  he  's  one  of  the  wisest  of  men  ; 


KEEPING   Oh         TM  SHUT.  51 

B  in  hia  body,  in  heart,  and  in  mind, 

A  jolly  _r 1  friend  of  all  human  kind, 

And  firm  for  the  right,  with  Btrong  iron  will, — 
Though  mild  as  a  child  and  merciful  still. — 
With  habit  atting  up  one  of  hi- 

A  id  turning  the  other  one  up  toward  the  skies, 
W    •  [uaintance  like  me, 

Ajb  if  to  avoid  the  faults  he  might  - 

V  r  which  1  here  thank  him,  and  that  heartily, — 
'T  is  .-hi  !  hut  I  'in  fond  of  tuch  oddity  ! 

McKin  al  that  to  rule  well  a  boufi 

With  right  sort  of  mate  in  ti.    _     irnor'a  spouse, 

Wh<>  >•       -  by  the  eye  and  not  by  the  whip, 

I-  aim  -    govern  a  sliij 

His  family  crew  now  num1         but  four, 

But  has  been  as  man;.       full  half  a  scor 

And  he  Bays  his  rule  works  for  few  or  for  more, — 

What  *fl  _    >d  on  th        k  is  g  od  on  the  shore; 

Eyes  open  add  shut  just  when  th         lould  b< 

Will  rn  the  land  as  weD  afl  the 

And  man   _        -hip  or  a  house  family  :  — 

Eyes  open  t         •  what  _: 1  you  can  find, 

Eyes  shut  to  the  evil  when  best  I  blind. 

The  old  heathen  makers  of  god         re  half  right 
In  makin  blind.      For  too  much  ight, 

By  brii  the  faults  of  1  >  light, 


52  ON   THE  ADVANTAGE 

Would  spoil  the  good  work  which  Cupid  can  do, 
But  only  by  keeping  defects  out  of  view. 

You  'd  better  be  blind  to  the  rheum,  or  the  sty, 
Or  mote,  or  the  squint  in  your  dear  lover's  eye  ; 
You  'd  better  not  see  the  mole  on  the  face 
Of  the  handsomest  girl  of  the  whole  human  race ! 
Nor  little  pug-nose,  nor  fiery  red  hair. 
Nor  little  red  temper  that  's  sleeping  in  there, 
Like  infantile  tigress  asleep  in  its  lair, 
Nor  hole  in  her  hose,  and  slouch  in  her  dress, 
And  limp  in  her  gait,  like  ship  in  distress, 
You  'd  best  not  behold  in  the  girl  who  's  to  bless 
Your  fond  wedded  life  with  love's  sweet  caress  ! 

The  old  heathen  makers  of  gods  then  wrere  wise 
In  making  young  Cupid  without  any  eyes  ; 
For  had  they  but  put  good  eyes  in  his  face 
He  'd  emptied  the  world  of  the  whole  human  race. 
The  sight  of  each  other  just  as  they  are 
Would  set  loving  hearts  a  good  deal  ajar 
With  unloving  strife  and  intestine  wTar  ; 
As  often  we  see,  in  fast-wedded  life, 
The  darling  fond  husband  and  pet  angel-wife 
A-jarring  in  matrimonial  strife  ; 
And  had  they  both  known  each  other  as  well 
Beforehand  as  after  the  marriage-bell, 
'T  is  matter  of  doubt,  to  say  the  least,  whether 
That  bell  could  have  chimed  the  two  together ; 
For  commonest  faults,  seen  clearly  and  well, 


OF  KEEPING       \      /")'/•  8HI  53 

lovinj        hearts  will  surely  repel, 
Aj  n  a  vision  will  break  Cupid's       11. 

Suppose  then  that  Cupid  had  never  been  blind, 
What  would  have  f  the  c        f  mankind  1 

\  i,  n«»  courtship,  no  marriage  \   ws, 

N  affiancing  husband  and  Bpouse, 

N     sighs  like  a  bellows  in  -         hear. 

letters  all  blurred  with  absent        '-       rs, 
N  58,  no  cards,  no  cake-  would  \       .-e, 

And  ah  !  for  the  parson,  no  wedding-fee  ! 

Ami  speaking  of  parsons,  a  curio 
Occurred  in  ol       lotland,  or  some  other  place, — 
I  think  it  was  Scotland,  —  which  thing  plainly  Bho 
A  parson  much  b         had  both  his  eyes  el 

Thai.  all  that  j  -  under  hi-  0080. 

Twas    Sunday:    the    people    n  _•■' 

where 
T  •  •  -    nt  the  whole  day  in  Bermoo  and  prayer, 
And  a  lit:         I  dog  had  tne  there, 

To  pick  up  such  crumbs  ght  b 

V      staying  all  day,  -  the  old-f  I  plan 

T    *  .'.  lunch  for  the  pi         ,]  ma   . 

Which  sandwi 

A  ient  kirk  Ian  -  i 

rer  bo  good, 

^ till  h  temporal  food. 


54  ON    THE  ADVANTAGE 

Pet  poodle  cared  not  for  sermon  and  such, 
But  lunch-time  he  always  adored  very  much  ; 
And  though  a  church-goer  on  each  Sabbath-day, 
So  much  so  he  could  not  be  driven  away, 
Yet  poodle  had  faults,  I  'm  sorry  to  say ; 
When  tempted  at  all  by  chance  for  a  meal,  — 
I  'in  sorry  to  say  it,  —  the  rascal  would  steal. 
All  through  the'  long  prayer  he  'd  wander  about 
The  aisles  up  and  down,  with  inquisitive  snout ; 
When  all  eyes  were  closed,  or  should  be  at  least, 
This  pet  of  a  poodle,  this  imp  of  a  beast, 
Was  snuffing  around  for  chance  at  a  feast ; 
Through    all    the    long   prayer,  w^hich   lasted   an 

hour, 
Like  Satan,  he  sought  what  he  might  devour. 
As  war-horse  that  smelleth  the  battle  afar, 
So  poodle  soon  scented  his  booty  of  Avar, 
And  entered  a  pewT-door,  standing  ajar, 
Where  a  narrow-necked  pitcher  upon  the  pew-floor 
Contained  a  most  savory  luncheon  in  store. 
Into  its  slim  neck  he  thrust  in  his  head, 
That  who  might  be  hungry  he  might  be  fed. 
The  porridge  receding  before  his  fierce  jaws, 
To  reach  in  still  further  he  thrust  in  his  paws  ; 
And  thus,  while  sufficiently  lank  yet  and  thin, 
By  little  and  little  his  body  went  in, 
Till  gulping  the  luncheon's  lowermost  dregs, 
All  poodle  was  in  save  his  tail  and  hind-legs. 


IP1NG    ONI    I  ri    SHUT.  55 

As  matter  of  c  nurse  be  filled  himself  fiist 

Bv  emptying  the  pitcher,  until,  at  the  last, 

filled  the  whole  from  Btomaoh       moat, 

And  then  for  the  life  of  him  could  n't  get  oat. 
Jasl   then  t!      _     I  parson,  half  through  the  long 

prayer. 

With  botl        -  wide  open,  in  Bort  of  a  Btai 
Was  looki  at  him,  now  here  and  now  tl    .   . 

And  watching  all  eyes  save  his  own  everywhere: 

all  <  -  losed  with  a  reverent  air 
Be  kept  bis  own  open,  -  at  was  his  car 
1  1   was  then  that  he  caught  the  ludicrous  Bight 

That   caused    him  to  laugh  in  hi-   Ion--   prayer  out- 
right,— 
The  dog  in  the  pitcher,  in  pite<>u>>  plight, 
And  acting  a-  any  dog  would  do  if  tight, 
And  feeling  a  Bort  of  delirium  Bright  ! 
He  tried  to  back  out,  and.  as  you  might  say, 
The  pitcher  itself  was  walking  away  ; 

it  of  the  pew.  then  doWD  the  br 
It  I  rod  the  while, 

[te  hind-legs  in  front,  it-  lead  a  d<  _'-  tail. 
It  .    i  that  it  musi  without  fail  ! 

A  i  a  queer  Bight,  amid  his  long  prayer, 

r  the  pan      il  ahorl 

And  hurst  with  a  laugh  when  he  on         w  it  fair. 

eth  tl  —  it<  moral.  —  * T  ifl  wil 

I     r  pa  it  up  thei: 


56  ON    THE  ADVANTAGE 

Will  Shakespeare,  who  wrote  of  all  humankind, 
Had  this  or  a  similar  thing  in  his  mind, 
When  he  wrote,  that  "  A  friendly  eye  could  not  see 
Such  faults  ! '    which  refers  to  both  you  and  me, 
As  well  as  to  Brutus  and  his  brother  C, 
And  chides  the  green  eye  that  hath  seen  a  flaw 
In  everything  good  it  yet  ever  saw. 

What  wisdom  is  there  in  keeping  in  sight, 
Unless  with  a  plan  of  setting  them  right, 
Such  things  as  always  give  pain  or  affright, 
And  cannot  at  all  give  any  delight,  — 
The  failings  and  faults  of  friends  and  of  foes, 
The  crooked  by-ways  which  A.  or  B.  goes, 
Or  rum-blossoms  swelling  on  So-and-So's  nose? 
Why  gaze  on  the  ugly,  the  mean,  and  the  bad, 
Which  only  and  always  must  make  us  sad, 
And  not  on  the  good,  which  make  us  feel  glad  ? 

And  what  is  the  use  of  keeping  an  eye 
Upon  the  dunghill,  or  filthy  pigsty, 
Or  objects  deformed,  unseemly,  and  wry, 
That  make  us  feel  hateful,  or  cause  us  to  cry, 
We  hardlv  know  how,  and  never  know  whv, 
When  all  the  round  earth,  the  sea,  and  the  sky, 
Has  so  much  to  cheer  and  to  gratify, 
And  beautiful  things  from  heaven  on  high, 
In  highway  and  by-way,  sparklingly  lie  ? 
Why  not  on  these  things  be  looking  the  while, 
And  not  upon  those  that  disturb  us,  and  rile 


OF  A  BUT. 

The  Bpleen  tomach  and  bil 

y  turn  from  the  ugly  ball-toad 

That  sulkily  bloats  in  the  rut  of  the  road 
Why  lo    .    n  the  Ban,  if  merely  to  trai 

The  !i  his  face? 

Th  d  Small  Grease,  the  sleekest  of 

men, 

A-  all  runt  pig  in  a  p< 

Unles         sharp  i        ia  in  -  >me  filthy  tr<>u_ 

her  foil         os,  of  which  there  'a 
'Mong  c  der,  or  wick        ad  tough, 

In  every  church  parish,  polished  or       gh, 
To  satisfy  -  cannibal  mind 

Who  loves  to  eat  up  the  fault  -  kind. 

To  ii-:'  dy'a  taul         the  little  one  blin 
Who  Beei        •  have  eyes  bef       wd  behind, 

T  i  1<>  »k  in  all  ways  at  a  time  for  th  it. 

Which  thrills  his  small  son!  with  it, — 

1  dts  of  1  by  night; 

V  -r  these  he  will  watch  like  a  mousing  sly  cat. 
Or  terrier-d   _.    t  the  hole  of  a  rat : 

Ami  tortur  1  will  that  victim  1 

1  _ht  by  no  matter  which  one   of  the 

th 

For  like  cat,  <         _.  or         it,  they 
[scorn 

In  which  tl  i  ill  d  fcch  ami  pn 


58  ON    TEE  ADVANTAGE 

The  deacon  is  small,  though  a  large  one  on  crimes, 
They  style  him  "  The  little  small  Deacon '    some- 
times. 
A  neighbor  who  happened  one  day  to  espy 
His  wife  hanging  out  his  washed  clothes  to  dry, 
Was  so  much  amused  at  the  ludicrous  size 
Of  Liliput  linen  that  tickled  her  eyes, 
She  burst  forth  and  vented  in  words  her  surprise :  — 
"  If  I  had  a  husband  as  little  as  that, 
Four  feet  and  a  half  from  his  boots  to  his  hat, 
And  two  feet  around  him,  I  hope  I  may  die 
If  I  'd  hang  his  linen  out-doors  there  to  dry  ! 
But  his  simple  wife  has  hung  it  up  high, 
As  if  for  the  purpose  to  catch  every  eye, 
And  of  course  it  attracts  the  folks  passing  by, 
For  they  all  stop  to  quiz  it,  and  laugh  till  they 
cry!" 

But  this  does  n't  trouble  the  deacon  at  all, 
For  the  little  chap  does  n't  esteem  himself  small, 
But  feels  full  as  large  as  the  largest  size  man 
That  ever  was  made  on  the  full  normal  plan. 
And  Liliput  size  is  all  in  his  favor, 
To  help  him  spy  out  his  neighbor's  behavior. 
It  takes  a  small  man  for  that  sort  of  thing, — 
A  small  one  wrho  feels  as  large  as  a  king  ; 
The  mastiff's  too  small  to  ferret  a  rat, 
The  little  dog-terrier 's  the  dog  made  for  that,  — 
Combining  the  instincts  of  both  dog  and  cat ; 


KEEPING   Oft         TE  sua.  M 

The  tumble-bug,  rolling  his  filthy  black  ball, 

ted  ii  a  Sisyphus,  stalwart  and  tall, 

Since  his  kind  of  work       amands  him  to  crawl. 
And  - 1  our  small  deaoon,  it"  i         ury  small, 
<    raid  d  tmplish  his  mission  at  all ; 

He  's  made  for  the  purpose  of  scenting  a  sin, 
( )f  rt  and  Biae  that  is  or  hai       in, 

it  hidden  or  open,  or  outside  or  in : 
11         rerywhere  looking  about  him.  t<>  find 

in  religion,  in  morals,  and  mind, 
Among  which  the  small  on<        meth  to  revel, 
Like  a  chip  from  the  oldest  of  blocks,  the  old 

Devil. 

Who  gloats  everlastingly  over  all  evil. 
There  is  not  a  moral  pig-sty        it 

That  he  does  ii"'         it  with  as  hungry  a  snout 
A-  ear    3  .  that  sh<>uM  be  under  th<        rand, 
[fi  snuffed  by  tl         ant  and  half-starving  hound: 
TL       is  n't  a  b  >g  iii  tip-  pleasantest  plac 
There  is  n't  a  1  hands       si  ;". 

N«»r  a  fault  in  th        i(  of  the  whole  human  r 
Nor  a  nau  >rd  that  *>  afloat  in  all  - 

T      igh  mingled  with  words  of  wisdom  and 
That  this  little  deacon  3ily  t: 

T '.■  ••  Little  small  1         n  "  was  feedi  .  _ 
Like  wriggling  fly-worm  in  a  ]  oiled  eh 

kd     -  -     with     ^r  if    v 

pi 


60  ON   THE  ADVANTAGE 

When,  lo !  his  sweet  banquet  of  moral  corruption 
Now  suddenly  suffered  a  slight  interruption, 
Not  by  the  dark  shadow,  but  sunshine  of  one 
Whose  face  was  as  genial  as  face  of  the  sun, 
A  clergyman's  too,  not  to  lengthen  the  story. 
On  the  old  parson's  head  was  a  white  crown  of 

glory  ; 
His  form  was  erect  with  vigor  of  youth  ; 
His  eyes,  still  undimmed,  were  the  windows  of  truth; 
Sweet  angels  of  flowers,  from  gardens  above, 
Distilled  on  his  lips  the  language  of  love  ; 
And  smiles  from  the  sky,  in  bright  summer  weather, 
Had  lit  on  his  face  to  stay  there  forever. 

"  I  've  come,"  he  began,  with  twinkles  of  fun 
'Neath  frowns  like  the  gauziest  clouds  on  the  sun, 
"  To  speak  of  a  sin  I  've  long  seen  in  one 
Who  keeps  on  his  course  for  all  that  I  've  done 
To  turn  him  aside  from  that  downward  run 
That  leads  to  destruction  as  sure  as  a  gun." 

The  deacon  sleeked  up,  and  purred  like  a  cat 
When  she  dreams  of  eating  a  mouse  or  a  rat ; 
For  he  thought  the  game  must  surely  be  fat 
About  which  the  parson  had  taken  his  hat 
And  walked  such  a  distance  to  have  such  a  chat  : 
It  made  his  mouth  water  just  thinking  of  that 
Rich  feast  which  he  fancied  he  'd  shortly  be  at, 
Of  scapegoat,  foul  tongue,  or  fatherless  brat, 
Or  some  precious  morsel,  he  cared  not  much  what. 


OF    Kill'.  '  \7     I   i  111.  Gl 

deacon  pricked  op  his  i 
L  oked  meek,  and  filled  up  hi  with  salt  tears, 

And  '  -  ••  his  all-]  lous  fea 

That*vice  would  bear  Bruit  for  many  long  y< 
He  *d  witnessed  bo  much  firom  beginnii         end, 

.  in  foe  and  in  fVi 
It  did  seem  t  i  him  that         d  must  lend 
Bis  wita  to  the  wretches  who  rainward  tend, 
1 1  help  them  al        in  fast  downward  c 
As  d  its  help  fast-racing  hora 

T  was  little         tw  thi       le  of  the  ski 
That  did  not  somehow  pain  l         f  his       is, 
And  it'  it  did  not,  it  gave  him  surprise : 

thieving,  deceiving,  and  weaving  of  li 
From  the  day  one  is  born  till  the  one  when  he  di< 

Such  idlen   38,  knavery,  vanity,  prid 
Such  billows  of  sins  which  never  subside, 
But  flow  on  forever,  an  endless  swift  tide, — 
A  i  ious  man  does  n't  know  where  he  may  hid 
Such   vi       and   Buch   |        fcy,    gaunt,   lank,  and 

lean, — 
Its  natural  offspring  never  K  en  ; 

Sueh  slander  with  t  of  venom  and  spleen, 

Li]     -        -  from  perdition,  two-edged  and  keen, 
9  i  rotten,  and  rained,  and  '1  in  dis 

I-  all  humankind  and  the  whole  human  r 

Tin  not  on  Earth,  that  I  know  of,  a  pla© 

Where  I  would  not  hlush  to  show  jU8t  my  taee  :  — 


62  ON   THE  ADVANTAGE 

And  this  side  of  heaven  I  don't  see  a  bit 
Of  sky  that  's  not  stained  with  smoke  from  the 
Pit !  " 
The  parson  here  stopped  him,  for  well  he  fore- 
knew 
The  deacon  would  otherwise  never  get  through. 
And  thus  he  resumed :    u  The  Man  in  my  mind 
The  meanest  of  men  is  not  much  behind,  — 
Censorious,  cynical,  surly,  unkind, 
To  other  folks'  virtues  deaf,  dumb,  and  blind  ; 
A  cynical  man  you  know  is  a  sinner 
Who  eats  people's  sins  as  one  eats  his  dinner ; 
And  the  one  I  allude  to,  who  lives  on  such  stuff, 
Though  he  eats  all  the  while,  has  never  enough  ; 
The  good  in  man  seems  to  do  him  no  good,  — 
He  hunts  like  a  hound  for  carrion  food. 
And    so   with    His    works,    whose    throne    is    on 

high, 
The  fellow  e'en  these,  if  he  dared,  would  decry : 
A  rainbow  has  never  attracted  his  eye 
If  black  clouds  were  anywhere  seen  in  the  sky ; 
And  flowers,  if  some  of  those  odorous  gems 
Should  drop  down  from  angels'  bright  diadems, 
This  fellow  would  look  to  find  thorns   on   their 

stems! 
There  might  be  an  army  of  glorious  trees, 
Whose  emerald  plumes  wave  high  in  the  breeze, 
Before  wThich  one  feels  like  bowing  his  knees, 


KEEPING  o.\  :/rr.  G3 

\n<l  birds  praise  their  Maker  in  musical 
Ai        :ir  them,  or  standing  al  >ne  ai 
A  rotten,  deformed,  dead  dwarf  of  a  tree. 
With  which  waited  toads  and  vermin  make  fire 
And  this,  not  the  forest  in  glory,  would  I 
The  choice  <>t'  hi-  on  and 

Ami  thus  iii  despising  the  sweet  things 

autiful  beings  which  God  hath  made  bright 
To  shi         r  His  glory,  and  give  us  delight, 
1       wretch  both  perverts  the  use  of  his  i 
And  scorns  the  Cp  urth  and  the  slri  3. 

And  then,  by  always  refusing  I        in 

The  blossoms  of  g 1  appearing  in  man, 

And  looking  for  wily  the  freckle  and  tan, — 
The  marks  of  old  Adam  and  Cain,  and  the  ban, 

He  shuts  from  his  view  the  Architect's  plan 
Of  builds       gain,  with  beauty  and  joy, 
The  temples  which  Satan  has  a    ight  to  destroy; 
And  8C     Lfi  tlte  sweet  blossoms  of  Mercy  and  L 
Brought  down  to  the  earth  by  the  white-wing 

d 

From  gardens  that  bloom  in  the  heavens  above, — 
Sweet  flowers  in  which  \       in  easily  tra- 
The  red  blood  of  L       tnd  pale  smiles  of  Grace 
Him  who  was  nail       d  the  CroM  f>r  our  race. 

N'.w  what  shall  W8  do  With  a  fellow  like  this, 

To  whom  the  deformed  and  ugjy  is  bliss? 

Perverting  the  natural  use  of  1 


G4  ON   THE  ADVANTAGE 

To  gloat  on  the  foul,  and  thus  to  despise 
The  beautiful  things  of  earth  and  the  skies,  — 
Who  never  will  walk  in  gardens  of  grace, 
The  trees  of  the  Lord  and  His  plants  to  trace ; 
Nor  sees  with  delight  the  fruits  and  the  flowers 
That  cluster  and  ripen  in  God's  earthly  bowers, — 
To  see  which  the  angels  from  Paradise  come, 
And  gather  to  cany  away  with  them  home. 
He  goes  there,  but  't  is  to  gaze  on  the  weeds 
And  tares  that  spring  up  from  the  poisonous  seeds, 
At  night,  which  the  Evil  One  stealthily  sows 
Beside  the  sweet  roots  of  the  peerless  white  rose. 
He  sees  in  his  own  brother's  eye  the  least  mote, 
But  would  not  behold  an  angel  afloat 
In  yon  golden  sea  of  the  clear  summer  air, 
If  such  a  bright  being  were  visibly  there, 
With  all  the  most  beautiful,  holy,  and  rare 
Bright  jewels  and  crowns  that  angels  may  wear. 

Now,  Deacon  !    what  shall  be   done  with  this 
sinner, 
Who  eats  people's  sins  and  such  things  for  dinner?  " 

The  parson  then  paused  for  the  deacon's  reply, 
With  more  than  a  twinkle  of  fun  in  his  eye. 
The  deacon  held  back  to  heave  a  good  sigh, 
Then  answered :  "  He  ought  to  be  hung  and  to  die ! 
But  we  have  not  power  to  sever  life's  tie. 
But  this  we  can  do,"  he  added,  with  glee, 
"  Unchurch  him  at  once,  and  cut  ourselves  free 


OF  KEEPING   OS  TUT. 

From  such  a  fool  cannibal  sinner  M  h< 

On  next  Sunday  morn,  should  the  weather  be  fair, 
S  i  that  the  whole  Church  and  people  be  then 

That  all  men  may  know  and  learn  to  bewar 

V  :  »  rpenta  of  sin  now  crawl  eyerywhei 
And  sulphurous  clouds  hang  thick  in  the  air. 
This  sentence,  though  mild,  ia  the  beat  we  can  do 
I  •  make  him  his  manifold  shortcomings  rue  ;  — 
But  if  we  could  give  the  wretch  bia  whole  due  ! ' 
(The  deacon's  right  arm  at  right  angles  Hew,)  — 
M  Stop  p!'        id  the  parson,  "The  ivretch, 

The  deacon  stopped  short,  and  turned  black  and 

blue,  — 
And  silence  then  reigned  for  a  minute  or  two. 
The  pa  continued  :   "  The  reason,  sir,  why 

I  \e  led  you  alon::  by  this  ruse  is  to  try 

To  teach  you  to  \       ts  you  ought,  with  your  eye. 

You  're  neither  prepared  to  live  nor  to  die, 

For  you  never  will  look  at  the  beautiful  sky; 

And  if  you  should  go  there,  you  could  n't  espy, 

In  all  the  fair  Land  of  Beauty  00  high, 

A  feet  to  cause  you  to  si^h  ; 

Nor,  in  short,  the  least  morsel  of  sin,  nor  a  dole. 

For  a  cynical  or  a  cannibal  soul. 

And  now  •       uclude,  I  '11  merely  adv 

That  you  send  far  a  surgeon  to  sew  uj>  your  eye 

And  henceforth  go  blind  until  you  grow  wise, 


66  ON   THE  ADVANTAGE 

And  starve  out  that  morbid  hunger  that  cries 
For  dinners  of  toads  and  moral  pig-sties ; 
And  punish  your  sinister  eye  till  it  dies. 
Thereafter,  when  this  is  thoroughly  done, 
New  eyes  you  '11  receive,  as  light  from  the  sun  ; 
These  nurse  like  twin-children  recentlv  born,  — 
At  first  with  a  few  mild  rays  of  the  morn,  — 
Then  tenderly  help  them  to  bear,  by  degrees, 
A  taste,  now  and  then,  of  flowers  and  trees, 
And  blossoms  of  Spring,  where  musical  bees, 
Who  keep  of  these  fragrant  temples  the  keys, 
Assemble  to  sing  their  songs  to  the  breeze, 
And  go  in  and  sup  whenever  they  please. 
Then  lead  them  along  the  brooklets  and  rills. 
That  prattle  like  children  among  the  green  hills,  — 
And  where  the  grand  forests  and  soft  meadows 

meet 
With  shadows  and  sunshine,  loving  and  sweet, 
And  answer  the  mowers'  sharp  scythe  with  a  greet 
As  they  lay  the  new  hay  in  swarths  at  their  feet ;  — 
Then  teach  them  to  love  the  Earth,  far  and  wide, 
Who  smiles  back  to  Heaven,  from  mountain  and 

tide, 
Its  beauty  and  love,  as  the  beautiful  bride 
Smiles  lovingly  on  the  lord  at  her  side  ; 
And  so  by  degrees  accustom  their  sight 
To  all  things  in  Nature,  lovely  and  bright 
Which  Heaven  hath  made  for  human  delight. 


of  k        TNQ  ONE  /  I        !rrr. 

A'l  things  they  should   love  which  Beauty  gave 

birth, 
Ail  things  that  adorn  the  paths  of  t        irth, 
And  all  tlir  bright  worlds  and  beings  on  hi_rh 
That  draw  as  by  oords  of  lore  t«»  the  sky  ;  — 
These  teach  them  to  love,  and  thi 
The  law  L  >rd  of  light  and  the  day. 

And  as       the  Guilts  of  poor  human  kind, 
They  will  not  <-t'  oours  •  be  entirely  blind  : 
Yet  help  them  t<»  hum  >ly  hear  this  in  mind, — 

at    they    have    their     1  well    as    s<>mo 

An<l  searching  .'1  of  a  brother's, 

[s  certainly  part  of  a  decent  discretion, 
A-  well    -  the  Holy  Scripture  direction. 

And  _ive  them  t«-  eat,  for  every-day  food, 
The  soft,  mellow  light  of  the  wii    Etnd  the  good; 
And  rive  them  *         -    on  the  beauteous  sight 
£  virtuous  deeds  that  make  the  n  rid  bright, 
A-  sunbeams  tha        tter  the  darkn  ht. 

i  to  drink,  in  ample  BUppli 

The  water  of  pity,  whose  mists  will  ark 

Like  I  harit        eil,  to  oover  tl 

I  >t"  the  d  this         of  the  sides, 

When  looking  at  faults  "t'other-  foe 

lV>r  know  thai  i  the  erring  and  bad, 

Where  so  much  :        n  thai  makes  the  world  sad, 

Is  sometimes  a  sight  that  makes  heaven  glad; 


68  ON   THE  ADVANTAGE 

Censorious  eyes,  on  the  sinner  intent,  . 
See  not  the  pure  tears  of  the  sad  penitent ; 
But  angels  see  these,  with  as  joyous  a  heart 
As  gems  in  the  cross  of  Christ  can  impart ; 
And  the  holy  sun-rays  of  the  dear  Saviour's  love, 
That  shine  on  these  tears,  from  His  throne  above, 
Form  a  rainbow  of  hope  in  the  penitent's  eye 
As  bright  as  was  ever  yet  formed  in  the  sky, 
Which  angels  behold  with  rrpturous  delight, 
And  burst  into  song  at  the  glorious  sight, 
Then  stretching  their  wings,  come  hastening  down 
To  bear  it  away  for  the  dear  Saviour's  crown. 
A  good  pair  of  Christian  eyes  like  to  these, 
Which  good  and  bright  things  can  evermore  please, 
Will  help  you  along  to  the  Country  afar, 
Where  none  but  the  good  and  beautiful  are. 
But  that  other  sort  is  the  heathenish  kind,  — 
To  heavenliest  things  of  beauty  stone-blind,  — 
And  with  a  sly,  grovelling  instinct  inclined 
To  crawl  in  dark  places,  avoiding  the  light, 
Or  fly  with  the  carrion-crow,  in  its  flight 
For  carcass  that  never  escapes  from  its  sight, 
And  that  sort  of  eyes,  rejoicing  in  evil, 
And  feeding  on  sin,  with  riot  and  revel, 
Of  course  they  are  going  it  blind  to  the  Devil ! 

"  And  now  for  your  choice,  my  nice  little  fellow ! ' 
And   the  old   parson's    heart   and   voice  became 
mellow 


OF  ki:i  r  \        \  SHUT. 

As  Autumn's  ripe  fruits,  on  Fruitfullest  t:     j, 
When  kissed  by  the  sun  and  Fanned  by  the  br 

\  >w.  Deacon,  your  choice,  my  nice  little  man  ! 

.1  you  have  a  surgeon  and  follow  my  plan, — 
OrM —   Horror!  the  parson,  struck  with  alarm. 

i-inik  back  as  if  filled  by  murderous  hare 
His  fv        braining  out  of  their  sockets,        in 
T  i  run  up  and  down  the  parlor,  and  ran 
In  vain  everywhere,  the  deacon  to  scan. 
Who  "<1  suddenly  disappeared  from  his  Bight ! 

w  dim  with  Strang  1  light, 

The  pa  3        died,  ••  I  teacon  ! '   in  voice  of  affright, 
Or  nervous  condition,  as  any  one  might 
Who  found  himself       _ht  in  Buch  a  weird  plight. 

e  deacon  had  gone  like  a  ghost  in  the  night, — 

Hal  vanished  \way  like  a  1< »st  evil  sprite 

When  1  a  in  conflict  with  -  and  right, 

©  © 

H        rtainly  had  not  oj        1  the  door, — 

The  windows  were  closed,  —  no  hole  in  the  floor, 

at  for  the  stove-pipe,  five  inches  four, 
And  no  man  could  drop  through  so  small  al       . — 
An 

Excepting  tl  y  ^as  all  in  a  roar. 

An  I  iell  of  sulphur  came,  more  and  m 

As  if  *    'm  an  inexhaustible  -     ■•. 

te  parson,  bewildered,  soon  fled  from  the  | 
I  >f  com     .  with  a  rather  undignified  ]  ace, 
id  with  an  unusual  expression  of  E        — 


70  ON   THE  ADVANTAGE 

* 

He  hurried  away  as  if  running  a  race, 

For  he  thought  he  'd  been  trying  to  minister  grace 

To  Satan,  or  some  other  desperate  case. 

I  never  have  learned  how  the  deacon  got  out, 
But  hear  that  he  still  keeps  prowling  about, 
With  eyes  like  the  holes  in  a  porker's  hard  snout, 
Which  seem  to  be  always  rooting  the  air, 
As  well  as  the  earth,  with  gloating  and  stare, 
And  turning  up  mud  and  dirt  here  and  there, 
From  parish  to  parish,  and  everywhere. 
I  just  mention  this  that  all  may  take  care 
To  avoid  him  and  Satan,  a  genial  pair 
Of  partners  in  business,  equal  in  share. 

The  parson  still  lives,  I  'm  happy  to  say, 
To  keep  the  old  Devil  and  such  folk  at  bay ; 
Which  thing  I  inform  my  cronies,  that  they 
May  hear,  and  digest,  and  always  obey 
The  good  parson's  words,  whate'er  they  convey 
To  lighten  the  earth  with  heavenly  ray, 
To  make  all  the  year  as  balmy  as  May, 
Our  life-journey  bright  as  midsummer  day, 
And  its  end  a  glory  that  fades  not  away. 
The  good  parson  lives,  and  his  sunshiny  words 
With  wings  and  bright  songs,  like  musical  birds 
Are  floating  about  in  the  mild  summer  air, 
As  sweet  as  the  perfume  hid  away  there. 
They  bid  us  behold  the  ravishing  sight 
Of  beauty  and  love  where  all  things  are  bright, 


OF  K!  r.ns  yr  BRUT  71 

Above  all  the  clouds  and  beyond  all  the  night ; 
And  tell  ofl  by  all  means  keep  our  eyes  right 
In  order  I       ach  that  Land  <>t*  Delight. 
1  therefore  conclude  that  the  way  t<>  be  ^ ise 

Is  to  learn,  first  "1"  all,  how  to  ma.  the  • 


HOW   THE   GHOSTS  WERE   DRIVEN  OUT   OF 

SLEEPY  HOLLOW. 

From  sixteen  ninety-seven,  or  so, 
Until  some  twenty  years  ago, 
The  ghosts  and  elves  of  fairy  land, 
And  every  sort  of  wizard  band, 
Were  free  to  go,  and  come,  and  follow 
Their  natural  bent  in  Sleepy  Hollow. 
In  truth  't  is  said  they  claimed  the  soil 
Our  fathers  earned  by  honest  toil, — 
A  poor  return  for  all  the  grace 
Those  good  men  showed  the  fickle  race, 
Who  'd  given  them  a  passage  free 
From  Faderland  across  the  sea, 
And  deeded  them  an  equal  share 
Of  bed  and  board,  and  land  and  air. 

The  petted  rascals  proved  themselves 
The  meanest  sort  of  faithless  elves ; 
Of  equal  rights  the  secret  haters, 
And  selfish  as  secession  traitors. 
From  bad  to  worse,  they  soon  became 
Incapable  of  sense  or  shame, 


Till    QHOE  \    Bid  EPY  HOLLOW.  73 

And  from  their  benefactors  si  tie 

The  other  half,  and  claimed  the  whole. 

B  me  petted  children  do  this  thing. 
And  favorites  of  too  mild  a  king  ; 
They  bring  indulgent  fathers  down, 
And  drive  the  monarch  from  hi  wn. 

With  vain  r<  ad  puckered  faces, 

For  nimbler  folk  to  take  their  places. 

I  >r  some  sly  vice,  like  serpent  old, 

Which  should  be  left  out  in  tl  Id, 

If  ta'en  in-doors,  bo  crawl  about, 

Will  BOOH  driv  _       I  thii  it. 

But  that  the  fairy,  wraith,  and  ghost 
Should  thus  usurp  to  rule  the  r 

When  they  had  half  in  equal  share 

With  our  forefathers,  was  not  fair  ! 
They  chuckled  with  an  inward  laugh 
When  the  1.      M  Dutchman  them  half, 

I'  >r  with  one  half  at  their  control 
Such  folk  are  suiv  t<>  get  the  whole. 
When  fairies  laugh  within  their  si- 
lt i  to  human  ears  the  bn 
That  sighs  or  sings  among  the  trees. 

Ji  or  do  fairy  ell 

from  moodfl  and  feelinga  in  ourselves  :  — 

A         ourselyes  ai    s   1  or  gay, 

The  fair   -   -    tga  are  tuned  alwaj; 

For  human  hear1         •  fiddle-string 


74:      HOW  TEE   GHOSTS    WERE  DRIVEN   OUT 

On  which  some  fairy  sighs  or  sings 
To  love  or  hate,  to  peace  or  strife, 
In  all  the  various  tunes  of  life. 

Those  Holland  elves  from  Faderland, 
Companions  of  that  Pilgrim  Band 
Who  left  the  old  country  for  the  new, 
To  see  what  honest  toil  could  do 
In  felling  trees  and  raising  wheat 
And  planting  Empire  in  her  seat,  — 
For  whom  our  fathers  did  so  much, 
Laughed  in  their  sleeves  in  elf-Low-Dutch,  - 
Laughed  that  our  fathers  made  so  free 
To  keep  back  half  in  simple  fee, 
And  with  sly  wink  and  plan  and  speech, 
By  which  such  rascals  overreach, 
Convened  their  tribes,  both  great  and  small, 
Determined  they  would  have  it  all. 
Convening  'neath  witch-hazel  tree, 
They  there  resolved  on  mutiny  : 
Resolved  the  land  should  wholly  be 
A  land  of  elves,  by  elf  decree  ; 
That  every  corner,  cave,  and  nook 
Should  be  the  home  of  witch  and  spook  ; 
Resolved  they  'd  been  insulted  much 
By  these  low,  laboring,  dunghill  Dutch, 
Who  meant  their  sacred  rights  to  invade, 
And  all  their  dignity  degrade  ; 
Resolved  to  spurn  the  proffered  terms 


OF   -         PI  HOLLOW.  75 

Of  equal  rights  with  mudsill  worms  ; 
B  i       '1  they  were  the  rolin 
And  to  be  ruled  was  a  disj 
Resolved  they  M  fire  th<       blin  heart 

To  act         and  and  glorious  part, — 
That,  born  t         'Til  and  command, 

Tb         I  rule  or  ruin  all  the  land. 
Thus  all  their  resolutions  ran  : 

And  then,  to  carry  out  their  plan, 

They  stru<*k  a  blow,  and  war  began, 
'1'-  conquer  Bl  epy  1  [ollow  whole, 
From  end  to  end,  to  their  control. 

They  haunted  every  ham  and  house, 

They  mad       spook  of  every  moUG 

id  put  a  witch  in  every  noi 

That  broke  a  Dutchman's  dreamy  joys. 

In  earth  and  air.  in  mist  and  vapors, 
They  cut  the  impost  sort  of  capers  :  — 
I  deepii  -      ople  out  <>T  beds,  — 
S  al  -  me  out-doors  without  their  heads, — 
And  others,  walking  in  their  sle< 

Whei  irec  a  wakh  _  p. 

If  dark  a  fo  p  stirred. 

sights  were  Been  and  n         beard  : 
Fanl  tstic  iha]  i  -  were  in  the  clouds  : 
Dead  men  were  wandering  in  their  shrouds; 
\ 'id  headless  horsemen  everywhere 

Were  heard  to  gallop  through  the  air  : 


76       HOW   THE  GHOSTS    WERE  DRIVEN    OUT 

Each  tree  and  rock  and  bush  in  sio;ht 
Was  instinct  with  a  walking  sprite ; 
And  every  hiding-place  almost 
The  secret  covert  of  a  ghost. 

In  vain  the  sleeper  in  his  bed 
Might  cover  up  his  frightened  head  ; 
Some  dream  would  startle  him  awake, 
Or  gust  that  made  the  building  shake  ; 
Hands  without  arms,  and  arms  without 
Their  hands,  would  throw  the  clothes  about, 
Of  with  the  clammy  touch  of  death, 
Would  make  the  boldest  hold  his  breath  ; 
And  nightmares  rode  unshod  across 
The  man  who  feared  no  other  horse. 

Woe  to  the  lone  and  tardy  wight 
Returning  home  too  late  at  night ! 
In  vain  he  whistles  to  his  fear 
When  Sleepy  Hollow  haunts  appear  ; 
In  vain  he  sings  to  quell  the  dread 
That  makes  the  hair  rise  on  his  head ! 
Things  hid  by  day,  but  seen  by  night 
In  well-known  paths,  fill  him  with  fright ; 
Strange,  mournful  sounds,  and  voices  rare 
Seem  floating  in  the  silent  air  ! 

It  cannot  be  the  babbling  rill 
Complaining  to  the  gray  old  mill 
Its  endless  doom  to  run  down  hill ! 
It  cannot  be  Pocantico, 


or  8LESP7  HOLLOW.  77 

Whose  murmurings  mimic  human  woe 
A-       -rant  as  bis  waters  flow  ! 
It  cannot  be  th       2      _     >eeie 
Telling  its  sorrows  to  the  fcre 
For  all  the  mortal  grief  it  sees  ! 
Nor  can  it  be  the  birds  that       p  : 
Nor  insect  bribes  that  vigils  keep 
When  all  the  world  is  Blumbering  deep; 
\  >r  Nature  Bnoring  in  her  si- 

Nor  creeping  things  that  chirp  and  creep 

Soon  as  the  ti>\s<T-  begin  t<>  wee]  . 
A-  flowers  do  weep  when  day  is  done, 
Mourning  the  tee  of  the  sun  ; 

Nor  d<>rs  the  moon  from  scudding  cloud 
Throw  o'er  each  hush  a  seeming  shroud  ; 
Nor  do  strange  shadows  flitting  by 
I    me  from  the  clouds  that  walk  the  >ky. 

Not  these  combined  could  form  the  power 
So  weird  that  rules  the  midnight  hour  ; 
Nor  all  such  things  of  sound  and  sight 
Could  till  a  Dutchman's  soul  with  fright. 

But  fairy  wit  and  elf  fineCM 

Impress  bi  eae  for  their  services, 

To  make  <>n<'  _rh<><t  Lri>  far  a-  twenty. 

And  lark  of  1"  -  plenty  ; 

Lii      I  and  noise  and  rattle, 

I  Quaker  guns  in  time  of  battle. 

Thus  one  ive,  witty         it. 


78        HOW  THE   GHOSTS    WERE  DRIVEN    OUT 

Or  wraith,  or  witch,  could  form  a  host ; 

By  seeming  like  a  bush  himself, 

He  made  each  bush  look  like  an  elf; 

By  imitating  sounds  as  well, 

Each  sound  one  heard  help'd  bind  the  spell. 

'Tis  thus  that  fairies  subsidize 

All  things  to  cheat  both  ears  and  eyes  ; 

To  make  the  substance  shadows  follow ; 

And  thus  they  cheated  Sleepy  Hollow. 

Our  good  forefathers  thus  were  fated, 

And  all  their  land  was  subjugated. 

Not  in  a  fair  and  stand-up  fight 
Were  they  subdued  and  brought  to  fright ; 
Not  in  the  honest,  open  day 
When  men  may  keep  their  foes  at  bay, 
At  least  can  see  them  in  array, 
And  hear  and  feel  the  bloody  fray, 
And  have  a  chance  to  kill  and  slay,  — 
But  in  a  mean  and  coward  way 
The  fairies  brought  them  to  their  sway : 
By  cheating  trick  of  ambuscade, 
By  unexpected  midnight  raid, 
By  sudden  dash  on  rear  or  flank, 
By  every  sort  of  dastard  prank, 
Pretence,  appearance,  falsehood,  lies, 
And  hypocritical  disguise 
That  ever  swindled  mortal  eyes. 

Oh,  had  they  had  a  chance  to  fight ! 


Or  SLEEPY  hollow:  79 

Oh-,  had  the  imps  not  come  at  night, 
But  shown  themselves  in  broad  daylight! 
Our  fathers  had  not  Buffered  (right, 
Nor  Sleepy  Hollow  known  the  plight 
Whereof  my  pen  will  Bcarcely  wrib 
Though  Facta  and  History  indil 

For  whoe'er  knew  a  Dutchman's  -  ul 
lumb  to  any  one's  control  I 
Who  doea  not  know  a  Dutchman  still 

Will  hold  his  way  and  have  his  will, 

Though  tortures  rack  and  death  may  kill  ? 
Fr<>in  which  we  know  they  did  not  yield 
In  any  lair  and  open  Geld  ; 
N  re  they  conquered  in  a  fight, 

But  by  mean,  rascal  trick  and  fright. 

Now  when  they  saw  the  thing  was  done 
As  -ure  a-  Betting  of  the  sun. — 
That,  tr  Ju  the  treacherous  hand 

Had  conquered  8       y  Hollow  Land, 
They  did  n  I  like  men  of  hat 

Or  men       -illy  Bort  of  | 
Who  madly  fight  I  their  Fate  : 

B  it  took  theirconqueroi        their  arm 
And  chose,  i        id  of  War's  alarms, 

with  all  her  jolly  charms, 
An  I  I  their  pipes,  just  a-  ht-fore, 

1  »n  clean-ecrubh  before  their  door, — 


SO        HOW  THE   GHOSTS    WERE  DRIVEN   OUT 

Examples  of  serene  content, 
Though  tempests  shake  a  continent ; 
Their  easy,  cozy,  dreamy  life 
Unstirred  by  outside  storms  of  strife. 

Nor  did  they  now  esteem  themselves 
Mere  vassals  of  the  tyrant  elves. 
Had  thev  not  brought  the  elfin  band 
Across  the  sea  from  Faderland  ? 
Why  then  not  deem  the  ghosts  and  elves 
And  all  those  folk  part  of  themselves  ? 

But  elfin  folk  no  honor  know, 
And  masters  love  their  power  to  show, 
And,  clothed  in  brief  authority, 
They  cut  queer  antics,  which  to  see, 
Their  cheeks  would  blush  if  they  could  do  it ; 
And  conscience,  if  their  conscience  knew  it, 
Would  tell  them  they  some  day  will  rue  it. 

Such  masters  -were  the  elfin  tribe. 
With  constant  trick,  and  prank,  and  gibe, 
They  kept  our  fathers'  fears  alive 
Till  eighteen  hundred  forty-five  : 
They  made  their  fires  burn  black  and  blue ; 
They  pinched  their  flesh  the  same  mixed  hue ; 
They  drove  pell-mell  the  dread  nightmare  ; 
They  knotted  little  urchins'  hair, 
Though  nicely  combed  and  soft  as  silk ; 
They  made  the  cows  give  bloody  milk ; 


ILEEPY  HOLLOW.  81 

Vi'l  made  the  new,  fresh  milk  turn  boot 
Whene'er  t!.        ihanced  a  thunde  r ; 

-  ihief  with  the  churning, 
Till  dairy-maid,  her  red  cl        -  burnint 
With  and  wratl        ubined, 

W    J  I         the  temper  of  her  mind, 
And  let  the  <1        ■  fall,  and  scream, — 
M  T  i  batter  in  this  cream, 

An  1  bo  the  butter  cannot  come  ; 
1 9\  1  two  houn  and  not  a  crumb  !  " 

dng  housewife  drope  her        ih, 
And  Baying,  "  We  '11  have  to  scald  the  witch!  n 
Pours  boiling  water  in  the  churn. 
An<l  dri     i  the  witch  out  with  a  hum  ; 
The  lag         butter  then  appears, 
Thou<       ale,  like  one  half  dead  with  fear 
From  spinning-wheels,  with  ui       q  hand, 
When  in  full  whirl  they  '«l  Blip  the  hand  : 
The  flax  from  distaff  slyly  pull, 
And  mat  the  rolls  of  carded  wool  : 
They  tangled  skeins  and  twists  of  yarn; 

led  h        U  in  the  ham  : 
Jerk<  I  linchpins  from  the  rolling  wheel : 
Pinched  hungry  pigs  to  hear  them  squeal; 

;h  from  rising  I 
waiting  for  it  all  the  night ; 
M.i  le  |  ally  I  lafes,  I  iked  done  and  brown, 

When  taken  from  the  01        _    down  ; 

6 


82       HOW  THE    GHOSTS    WERE  DRIVEN   OUT 

Made  cooking  meat  shrink  in  the  pot,  — 
A  round  diminish  to  a  dot,  — 
So  when  the  meat  was  done,  ?t  was  not. 
The  elfins  made  folk  believe  it  right 
For  ghosts  to  walk  the  earth  at  night ; 
That  if  they  'd  look  they  surely  might 
See  things  invisible  to  sight ; 
That  dreams  and  portents,  not  a  few, 
All  men  might  know,  as  some  men  knew, 
Were  sure,  if  watched,  to  come  out  true  ; 
Strange  sights  there  were,  and  noises  too, 
True  signs  to  those  who  got  the  cue, 
To  tell  them  what  they  ought  to  do 
To  ward  off  danger,  or  prepare 
For  what  must  come  in  spite  of  care  ; 
And  every  house,  as  sure  as  doom, 
Must  have  at  least  one  haunted  room, 
In  which  ghosts  came  and  stayed  at  pleasure, 
And  hid  away  their  secret  treasure. 
Not  even  a  horse-shoe  o'er  the  door, — 
The  sign  that  they  must  come  no  more, — 
Though  placed  with  skill  and  nailed  with  care, 
Could  keep  outside  the  dread  nightmare, 
Nor  witch  with  broomstick  and  long  hair ; 
Nor  horse-shoes  placed  'neath  careful  beds 
Could  give  repose  to  restless  heads, 
Nor  keep  from  limbs,  in  weather  damp, 
The  nightly  witches'  knotted  cramp : 


OF  8LKEPT  HOLLOW*  83 

arm-proof,  and  riding  on  the  air. 
The  things  »t  in  anywhere. — 

Through  key-holes,  knot-holes,  broken  glass, 
Or  chimneys  they  could  easily  \  mm  : 
No  skill  could  bar  the  _  blina  oat  : 
No  charm  prevent  their  nightly  rout. 

The  atmosphere,  through  all  the  vale, 
Tl  Ubound  from  the  wholesome  gale, 

To  keep  it  dreamdike.  fixed,  and  still, 

The  better  thus  t<»  work  their  will ; 

Their  soporifics  made  it  hazy, 

And  Indian-summer  like  and  lazy: 

So  that  whoe'er  came  in  the  place 

Pelt  free  from  care  in  its  embrace, — 

Willing  t<>  let  the  world  pass  by, 

So  he  could,  calmly  dosing,  lie. 

Like  Rip  Van  Winkle,  only  Rip 

Drank  deeply  of  a  certain  Hip 

Which  helped  the  world  give  him  the  slip, 

An  I  bim  rather  far  behind 

i  suit  his  waking  mind  : 
'T  is  evident  both  drink  and         p 
Of  Uncle  Rip  was  rather  deep  : 
But  sin  the  self-same  air 

That  made  Rip  A  ep  so  lon_r  was  there, 
Li'  Kid  kept  with  elfin  car 

And  all  who  breathed  the  soporific 
Found  it  a  mild  and  sur         'cific 
For  that  wild,  restless  energy, — 


84       HOW  THE   GHOSTS    WERE  DRIVEN   OUT 

The  steam  in  Man's  machinery,  — 
Which  makes  him  act  as  if  possessed 
With  spirits  from  the  world  unblest, 
And  drives  him  onward  and  ahead 
Until  he  bursts  or  drops  down  dead  ! 
That  fiend  was  laid  just  when  and  where 
One  breathed  the  Sleepy-Hollow  air. 

The  goblin  mischief  of  this  plan, 
Which  seemed  so  cozy-like  for  man, 
Was  that  the  tide  of  humankind 
Might  pass  and  leave  these  folks  behind ; 
Like  passengers  wTho  miss  the  stage, 
Then  fall  into  a  fret  or  rage, 
Or  chase  in  vain  the  rushing  wheels, 
With  frantic  shouts  and  mute  appeals, 
While  those  inside  half  die  with  laughter 
To  see  the  outsides  running  after. 
?T  was  said  by  some  who  did  not  know, 
Except  by  cursive  glance  or  so, 
The  goblins  had  a  lot  of  fun 
In  seeing  what  their  trick  had  done ;  — 
In  seeing  folk  of  Sleepy  Hollow 
Attempt  the  rushing  world  to  follow, 
A  hundred  years  behind  the  age, 
Like  passengers  left  by  the  stage,  — 
Who,  though  they  ran  years  half  a  score, 
And  ran  until  their  feet  were  sore, 
To  catch  the  rest  of  human  kind, 
Were  yet  one  hundred  years  behind ! 


OF  SLEETY  HOLLOW.  85 

'T       3  not  their  fault  if  this  were  80, 
But  prank  of  their  deceitful  f 
Who  bade  them  take  their  time  and  ease, 
And  smoke  the  lulling  ]>i]>e  of  | 

And  mixed  that  Sleepy  Hollow  air. 
Which  like  a  spell  so  bound  them  ther 
To  mention  which  I  think  but  fair. 

Thus  elfin  lawfl        I  ghostly  sway 
Ruled  Sleepy  Hollow,  night  and  day, 
While  our  forefathers  dozed  away, 
Una  -  of  the  thrall  and  pail 

And        lorn,  and  the  tyraat-chai 
Which  bound  them  fart,  while  agee  |  assed, 
Till  their  deliverance  came  at  last. 

And  their  deliverance  came  at  last 
As  sudden  as  a  tram]  it  ! 

But  not  by  trumpet-blast  it  came, 
Nor  thunder-abode,  nor  lightning-flame, 
Nor  musket-flash,  nor  cannon's  roar, 
Nor  torrent        1  of  human  gore 
Of  fiere  annating  war  ; 

(By  some,  say  ni  n  out  of  twenty, 

'T  is    thought    that    war    makes    ghnfltfl    more 

plenty,) 
Nor  by  the  wild,  rash,  ru        s  train 
Of  railroad,  cutting  hills  in  twain, 
And  fillin  for  the  cour 

Of  load-mouthed,  snorting  iron-horse, 


86       HOW   THE  GHOSTS    WERE  DRIVEN   OUT 

Whose  screeches  well  might  frighten  hosts 
Of  %ing  elves,  or  walking  ghosts. 

These  only  drove  the  elfin  band 
Close  to  the  coverts  of  their  land, 
Which  lay  serene,  with  half-closed  eye, 
While  all  the  world  rushed  madly  by. 

Not  war,  not  rail,  nor  time's  swift  stream, 
Disturbed  at  all  its  placid  dream ; 
But,  spite  of  these,  the  goblin  sway 
Might  have  remained  there  till  to-day, 
Had  not  this  simplest  thing  occurred, 
For  which  I  have  a  Dutchman's  word  :  — 

O'er  Sleepy  Hollow  flew  a  bird 
Which  sang  a  song  till  then  unheard 
Within  the  drowsy  atmosphere ; 
This  haply  caught  a  listening  ear, 
Which  ear  led  to  a  listening  soul ; 
*T  was  this  that  broke  the  elf  control. 

Prophetic  song  !  it  breaks  their  spell, 
It  tolls  the  goblins'  funeral  knell, 
Brings  palsy  to  the  traitor  hand, 
Brings  death  to  every  tyrant  band, 
Sings  joy  and  freedom  to  the  Land  ! 

Strange  work  begins*:  the  forest- trees, 
Like  penitents,  fall  on  their  knees, 
As  if  confessing,  by  dumb  show, 
Their  lagging  course  and  duty  slow ; 
Then  one  by  one  they  gather  round 


Or  8LEEPT  HOLLOW,  87 

A  knoll  that  \       \  enchanted  ground, 
And  there  dressed  ou1  and  shaped  anew. 
They  Boon  into  a  building  grew  I 
Eter  to  rafter,  beam  to  beam, 

r  _  ther  come,  and  instinct  seem 
With  thought  to  know  their  Beveral  places, 
And  clas]       -h  other  in  embraces, 
With  ties  which  Time  ought  not  to  sever, 
And  if  he  does  n't.  will  last  forever. 

1  bus  compact  grew  that  building  there, 
In  due  proportions,  -'      _  and  fair. 
Until  the  morning's  rising  -  in 

on  the  work,  and  said.  u  Well  done  !  " 
And  what  i<  wondrous  to  relat 
A  living  spring,  that  very  da* 
Gushed  from  the  building's  porch,  and  then 
Flowed  gently  Girth  through  all  the  glen  ; 
A  Bpring  where  little  urchins  drink. 

And  cool  their  heads  to  help  them  think  ; 

In  whose  ]  ure  depths  they        their  fact  s, 
And  practise  attitudes  and  graces. 
Clear-       1.  lithe-limbed,  and  strong  and  wis 
The  yonkers  into  manhood  rise  ; 

And  in"  auty  _rr<»w  tie-  fair 

drinking  ••!'  the  fountain  there. 

* T  is  a  id,  1  who  know, 

That  whe  flow 

They  carry  ble8sing8  '     the  land. 


88       HOW   THE   GHOSTS    WERE  DRIVEN   OUT 

And  give  new  strength  to  heart  and  hand  ; 
That  gardens  blush  with  flowers  most  rare, 
And  even  houses  grow  more  fair  ; 
That  orchards  bend  with  golden  fruits, 
Where'er  its  waters  touch  their  roots  ; 
That  harvesters  are  sure  to  find 
The  blessings  which  it  leaves  behind,  — 
Two  spears  of  grass  where  one  had  been, 
And  fields  of  wheat  wThere  none  w^ere  seen, 
And  pastures  green  and  meadows  mown, 
Where  but  miasmic  swamps  had  grown  : 
In  short,  where'er  that  fountain  flows 
The  valley  like  an  emerald  glows. 

'T  is  strange  a  building  thus  could  squeeze 
From  the  dry  ground  such  springs  as  these  ; 
And  some  may  doubt  the  truths  I  sing 
About  this  wondrous  flowing  spring. 
But  still  its  sparkling  waters  flow,  — 
I  know  not  how,  but  only  know 
That  when  that  building  pressed  the  earth 
This  living  fountain  had  its  birth. 

And  strange  the  power  that  building  had 
In  scattering  goblins  foul  and  bad  ! 
For  from  the  day  that  it  was  reared 
No  ghost  nor  wraith  has  once  appeared, 
Nor  one  stray  sprite  from  elfin  band, 
In  all  the  Sleepy  Hollow  Land  ! 
Its  dozy,  dreamy  atmosphere 


///*)'   HOLLOW. 

Ghrei       sp,  like  other  air.  and  clear. 

The  light  rushed  in  and  «_r'         rushed  out, 

lake  armies  in  a  \  anic  rout ; 

Without  sufficient  can-',  of  coure 

l»ut  frantic,  like  a  fright 

That  rushes  through  the  yielding  air, 

He  kn<»ws  not  why,  and  care-  not  where  ; 

Tims  rusl     1  the  gh  its  from  Sleepy  Hollow. 

We  kn<»w  not  where,  nor  care  to  follow, 

1  n  of  their  fright 

Which  ended  in  their  final  flight ! 

We  think  it  must  have  been  th<       lit 
Of  that  strange  building  with  its  light. 
And  thus  the  Muse  inspin        song, 
It  was  the  Sch  <>]-ll         lid  the  thing  ; 
For  from  the  day  that  house  was  reared 
host  nor  witch  has  once  appeared, 
Nor  one  -tray  sprite  from  elfin  band, 
In  all  the  81         Hollow  Land. 


BROADWAY. 


BY  A   COUNTRYMAN. 


I  've  seen  Broadway  !     It  seemed  to  me, 

The  livelong  day, 
That  all  the  world  was  in  New  York, 
And  all  New  York  must  surely  be, 
With  all  its  horses,  beeves,  and  pork, 

In  this  Broadway. 

From  all  the  wide  earth,  air,  and  seas, 

Here  seem  to  meet 
The  confused  noises  of  creation, 
Whose  endless  clamors  never  cease, 
Clanging  their  Babel-like  vibration 

In  this  one  street. 

Like  our  great  streams  in  freshet  times, 

Which  rush  and  roar, 
Tearing  their  banks  in  hurried  flight, 
The  people,  gathered  from  all  climes, 
Rush  down  Broadway  from  morn  till  night, 

Then  back  they  pour. 


BROADWAY*  91 

Each  morning  down,  each  evening  back, 

Thea    si     una  of  men, 
Ebbing  and  flowing  like  the  lid 

With  all-hue<l  waves  from  whil  Mack, 

Bosh,  swell,  and  Barge,  and  then       ride, 
To  sur        gain. 

All  nations  seem  to  \e  thrown  their  things 

In  here,  pell-mell  ; 

Silks,  la*  S,  linens,  furs,  fruits,  shawls 
All  BOrtfl  ofgoodfl  that  commerce  brings, 

And  all  the  locomotive  ban 

To  trade  and  sell. 

And  all  the  gold  from  all  the  mines, 

And  things  must  rare 
And  rich,  are  in  the  windows  found  ; 
And  _    Is,  or  heathenish  divines, 

Without  a  >titch  of  clothing  round 
Their  bodies  bar 

And  all  the  pictures,  prints,  and  paints, 

And  Haunting  flirts  ; 
The  hL  and  highest  lvnts, 

The  worst    E  sinners,  into, 

And  tip*  whole  v.  tmmoi        nts, 

And  all  the  Bquirtg 


92  BROADWAY. 

All  the  lost  tribes  of  wandering  Jews, 

With  the  same  noses 
And  golden  ear-rings,  (some  are  brass,) 
The  same  old  rites,  old  clothes,  and  shoes, 
And  spirit  of  the  same  old  ass 

They  had  with  Moses. 

And  Gentile  wanderers  of  the  town, 

Gay  belles  and  beaux, 
Whose  chief  employment  seems  to  be 
To  keep  on  walking  up  and  down, 
Like  men  with  post-bills  on,  to  see 

And  show  their  clothes. 

All  languages  and  tribes  and  tongues 

Here  meet  and  blend  : 
Dutch,  Irish,  all  sorts,  pray  and  swear  ; 
Italians  grind  and  sing  their  songs ; 
In  short,  Broadway  's  a  World's  Great  Fair 

From  end  to  end. 

Russ-pavement !     Oh,  could  horses  curse  ! 

That  fatal  course 
Would  hear  some  oaths  would  make  it  hiss, 
Than  even  man's  perhaps  oaths  worse,  — 
For  each  Russ-stone  a  gravestone  is 

Of  some  dead  horse  ! 


BBOADWA  r. 

Poor  h«  !  jades  in  all  the         es 

I  >T  living  death  : 
panting,  sweating ;  oth<        awing; 

•  foiling  while  the  driver  rages; 
And  e         with  all  their  strength  just  drawing 

Their  last  thin  brealh. 

But  manv  a  horse  aristocratic, 

(And  jackass  too.) 
Lives  in  a  h  -  high  ; 

While  1.  a  human  democratic, 

Not  one  g 1  >t<>ry  left  have  I, — 

But  less  will  do. 

I  marked  a  pensive,  downcast  maiden, — 

So  sad  her  eyes 
One  reads  her  story  as  she        s  ; 
Her  weary  life  with  work  o'erladen, 
She  toils,  and  toils,  and  paler  grows, 

And  slowly  di< 

By  her  there  flaunted  on  another  ; 

Though  silks  are  high 
She  trailed  •       i\\  upon  the  ground 
To  make         m  for  her  grandmother, 

And  filth,  with  which  the  streets  abound, 
She  mopped  up  dry. 


94  BROADWAY. 

But  then  the  man  who  walks  her  after 

Finds  all  his  path 
So  cleansed  and  swept  from  filth  and  dirt, 
He  tries  his  best  to  keep  from  laughter 
To  see  it  dangling  from  her  skirt, 

Or  chokes  his  wrath. 

I,  gawky-like,  trod  on  one's  trail, 

And  tore  it  asunder ; 
She  turned  as  if  to  eat  me  raw, 
And  looked  a  look  that  made  me  quail,  — 
The  handsomest  face  I  ever  saw 

Turned  black  with  thunder ! 

A  woman  harnessed  twixt  two  dogs 

Before  a  cart ! 
I  saw  them  drag  a  load  of  stuff 
She  'd  gathered  up  to  feed  her  hogs, 
Which  passing  smote  my  nose  enough 

To  make  it  smart. 

And  crowding  hers  dashed  by  a  team 

And  equipage 
That  gave  my  country  eyes  a  feast ; 
While  boys  cried,  "  Shoddy ! ! ! "  with  a  scream 
That  made  one  person  jump,  at  least, 

And  made  four  rage. 


BROADWA  V. 

Now  Shoddy  ifl  a  term  applied 

To  meD  just  Bhod 
With  gold,  of  which,  1  understand, 
They  ro  . —  those  who  died 

While  battling  for  their  native  land, 

On  ifl  -I. 

I  like  tin  Ldy-chaps,  because 

They  Bhow  the  charms 
And  true  nobility  of  cash, 
And  our  aristocratic  laws, 
Which   i        the  man  who  makes  a  dash 

A  farm 

I  met  a  man  I  need  not  name, — 

Last  tall  our  guest,  — 
And  knew  him  well,  and  he  knew  me, 
And  yet  he  passed  me,  just  the  same 

As  though  < ;•    -  Dot  made  to 

A  friend  ill-d.        1. 

They  say  about  a  thing  like  this 

I  >t  bother, 

For  peoj.h  in  their  new  clothes 

Don't  kn<»w  the  friends  tiny  even  k 
In  some  by-street  where  no  one  _    s, 

But  cut  each  other. 


96  BROADWAY. 

And  men  who  live  five  stories  high 

Look  down  and  chafe 
Four-story  men,  with  scorn  and  pride ; 
And  hence  they  build  as  near  the  sky 
As  they  can  very  well  abide, 

Or  deem  quite  safe. 

And  many  a  man  whose  rule  of  life 

Is  Get  and  gather ! 
Climbs  on  his  gold  above  himself, 
And  gets  a  golden  sort  of  wife, 
Then  don't  know  anything  but  pelf, 

Not  even  his  father ! 

The  greatest  wonder  in  Broadway 

A  man  can  meet, 
Is,  how  through  all  the  mixed-up  mass 
Of  horse-kind,  stage-kind,  coach,  and  dray, 
Driving  like  Jehu,  one  can  pass 

Across  the  street. 

The  Apostle  Paul  stands  petrified 

While  gazing  down, 
From  his  old  Church  by  Fulton  Street, 
On  the  mad  scene,  which  vexed  and  tried 
Him  sore,  till  he,  from  head  to  feet, 

Was  changed  to  stone  ! 


BROADWA  Y. 

It  seems  like  whirlwinds  in  the  woods,  — 

<  >  itl  *,  dies,  appeals, 

The  vehicles  of  all  the  world 
All  jammed  and  crammed  with  men  and  good 
And  in  mad  huddle  wildly  hurled.  — 
Wheels  locked  in  wheel-. 

Men  wh<>  CT068  here  must  venture  on    t 

With  rash  intent, 
And  make  their  wills  ere  they  leave  horn 

eh  men  would  swim  the  Hell         at 
Tl.        .  choked  with  debris  floating  from 
A       itinenb 

I  Per  tl  is  mad  lurf  some  cool  M.  P. 

Just  lifts  his  hand. 
And  lo!  the  Btormy  waves  divide, 
And  ti  >ple  cross  the  sea, 

With  this  str.i    ;      M    -    -       .  iide, 

Safe  on  dry  land  ! 

t  these  M.  P.'s        shunned  ^y  many, — 

Much  i        's  the  | 
B-  erf  their  acquaintances  : 

Tl    •  know  the  thieves,  pickpockets,  any 
And  all  had  folk,  wit         iked  phis, 

Throughout  the  eit 

7 


98  BROADWAY. 

They  even  know  the  corporation,  — 

That  long-lived  thief,  — 
Who  's  levied  black-mail  for  a  living 
E'er  since  the  British  occupation,  — 
The  scoundrel's  common  way  of  "  giving 

Broadway  relief  !  " 

The  river  Styx  flows  through  Broadway, 

Where  Barnum's  Show 
Long  stood,  a  gilded  gate  of  death : 
There  on  the  dark  walk  thousands  stay, 
Trembling,  yet  asking  with  quick  breath 

To  pass  below. 

Them  Police  Charons  pilot  o'er 

To  join  their  friends. 
But  still  the  tide  keeps  rushing  on, 
And  crowds  keep  surging  as  before, 
To  swell  the  multitude  who  've  gone 

Where  Broadway  ends. 


REMIXIXKXCE  OF  A  COLLEGE  TRAMP. 


TO   J.    T.    J. 


Y  >u  remember,  dear  J.,  that  Saturday's  stroll, — 
No  Latin,  no  Greek,  no  calling  the  roll 

Alma  Mater  that  morning,  and  so 
We  crossed  into  J        y,  by  ferry,  yon  know  : 

"f  is  twenty  odd  j        3,  or  nearly,  ago. 

I '  ior  Phelps  was  along,  we  three  and  no  more ; 
P.'a  two  legs  were  nearly  as  long  as  our  four  : 
His  body  thinner  than  yours,  e'en  if  you 

1 1  id  Lengthwisely  cut  your  body  in  two,  — 

A  sum  in  di        n  you  *d  rather  not  do. 

P.'a  nose  looked  ahead  :  bnt  never  mind  that, — 

A  large  QO»         K)t  the  sure  sign  of  a  flat  : 
B  it  y    i   J  that  the  nose  on  IVs  face 

Gave  him  tl.      [vantage  in  running  ar       :  • 

"  His  nose  throws  forward,"  quoth  you   (a  clear 

), 
"  His  Centre  <  :         vity  quite  a  loi  ace, 

And  hen  S  him  on  a  centrifugal  pace  !  " 


100    REMINISCENCE  OF  A  COLLEGE   TRAMP. 

P.'s  pride  on  a  tramp  was  in  going  ahead 
In  a  bee-line  course  and  Indian-file  tread  ; 
P.  copied  the  Indians  of  whom  he  had  read. 
So,  when  in  New  Jersey,  we  three,  as  I  said, 
P.  struck  a  bee-line  to  somewhere  unknown  ; 
"Because,"  reasoned  P.,  "  every  Indian,  as  shown 
In  history,  goes  straight  and  that  way  alone." 
"Good   reason!"  quoth  we,  and   followed,   half 
blown. 

P.'s  reason  was  good,  and  as  he  was  bent 
To  go  straight,  we  let  him :  with  rent  upon  rent 
In  coats,  pants,  and  skin  we  bolted  ahead, 
Through  bushes,  a  swamp,  and  a  soft  turnip-bed, 
And  then  a  cornfield,  till  we  came  to  a  shed 
Where  an  old  brindle  bull  was  just  being  fed. 

Bull  "  struck  a  bee-line  "  for  P.,  and  poor  P. 
Turned  tail  to  the  bull  as  quick  as  might  be, 
And  gave  the  old  bull  a  fair  chance  for  a  race,  — 
P.  taking  the  lead  at  a  two-forty  pace. 
I  never  yet  saw  more  fright  in  a  face, 
And  never  more  fun  in  any  bull-chase. 

P.'s  legs  cut  the  air  like  scissors,  the  eye 

Of  the  bull  glared  fiercely  :  bull's  horns  were  quite 

nigh 
To  poor  P.'s  coat-tail ;  bull's  own  tail  was  high : 


MI  OF  A  COLLEGE   TRAMP,     KM 

Bull  roared,  foamed,  and  bellowed;  bat  F.  kept 
ahead,  — 
11  "straight  as  a  bee-line M  the  boll-chase  he 
led  * 

said  turnip-patch  from  the  old  Bhed, 
1  leaping  the  rail-fence  fell  buried,  half  dead, 
In  the  mud  the  other  side,  which  he  sank  in  lik<i 
lead. 

But  soon  he  revived,  and  again  we  set  forth ; 
J*.,  saying  the  Indians  travelled  best  North, 
Turned  his  face  to  the  yet  sharper  face  of  the 

wind. — 

A  cutting  Nor'wester:  we  followed  behind, 

P.'s  meeting  the  hull  had  quite  altered  his  mind, 

id  he  crooked  his  bee-line,  which  thing  is,  I  find, 
A  common  occurrence  with  most  human  kind. 

'T  wa  j,  0  tol»er,  a  glorious  day, 

Old  B  bad  blown  all  his  fury  away, 

A  .thin.        le  os  fee]  happy  and  gay. 

r  up  in  ar,  placid  deep  of  the  air, 

it,  cawing,  and,  wind-         tg  fair. 

Were  noisily  chasing  a  hen-hawk  corsair ; 

Win".  [uirrels  seemed  trying  to  swear 

They  were  happy  to  meet  three  chaps  without  care, 
A:.  I  gun  to  ravage  their  lair. 


102    REMINISCENCE  OF  A  COLLEGE   TRAMP. 

Thus  welcomed  were  we  by  all  everywhere, 
Except  by  that  old  brindle  bullock  back  there. 
O'er  fields,  over  fences,  o'er  hedges  and  logs, 
Through  forests,  through  briers,  through  bushes, 

and  bogs, 
Through  streamlets  that  laughed  like  children  at 

p!ay, 
We  reached  a  high  wooded  hill  in  our  way, 
Which  the  fairy  pencils  of  Autumn's  bright  fay 
Had  recently  changed  to  a  giant  bouquet : 
It  looked  like  a  great  bunch  of  flowers  that  lay 
In  the  breast  of  the  glorious  King  of  the  Day. 

Oak,  beech,  sugar-maple,  and  hickory-trees 
Stood  up  and  waved  softly  their   hands   to   the 

breeze  ; 
Their  crimson,  brown,  scarlet,  and  bright  yellow 

leaves 
Were  kissing  the  evergreen  hemlock  and  pine ; 
While  lovingly  round  them  the  fast-clinging  vine 
Its  tendrils  had  timidly  dared  to  entwine, 
And  modestly  hugged  them,  though  blushing  like 

wine. 

'T  was  a  splendid  bouquet!.    Even  P.,  standing 

still 
To  rest  his  long  legs,  took  a  look  at  the  hill. 


REM  IN  IE       \  "/.I.l  TRAMP.     1     I 

M  I  Bhouted  P.    "  Se€  I  kfc      's  ch< 

nuts  ap  there  ! 

I  me  ahead  !  for  1  'm  bound  to  ha.    -  »me«    I  don't 

ca 

II  m  much  my  old  ooat  or  my  tn  tar ; 
I  'in  glad  now,  however,  that  I  didn't  wear, 

As  I  had  -        -I  mind  to,  my  Ik  9)  Sunday  pair! ' 

W  the  w  ""1.  —  a  little  chipmonk 

V\v-'  1,  then  BCampered  away  to  lii-  hunk  : 

High  up  on  a  limb  of  a  tall        stnut-tn 

A   gray  squirrel  waa  cracking  a  nutshell;  "And 

S  all  do  the  same  thing  pretty  soon,"  promised  P. 

"They're  very  high  up,"  said  P.,  "but  I  *11   j 

'  'em ; " 
Ami  .••  as  to  climb  was  I*.,  and  we  let  him. 

e  one,  ?  him  1        st, — 

I  Fp  I  •  like      S     Qghai  wl  to  roost, 

A  soon  from  their   cells    the    browi*,  ] 
«ed. 
Released,  how  they  1  from         tree  t«»  the 

md  ! 
■1  rattled  and  ca]  od  danced  all  around, 

Then  hid  away  under  t:  with  a  bound, 

With  I  '•  hi«le-an<l-_        ekf"  and. 


104    REMINISCENCE  OF  A  COLLEGE   TRAMP. 

So    we    picked    them  up,  while  P.    shook   them 

down,  — 
A  custom  time-honored  in  country  and  town, 
By  old  man  and  young,  by  wise  man  and  clown : 
At  home  and  abroad,  on  land  and  the  sea, 
Some  men  do  the  shaking,  the  same  as  poor  P., 
And  some  have  the  picking,  like  you,  John,  and 

me. 
At  length  Shanghai  saw  it,  then  shouted  forth  he, 
From  the  top  of  his  lungs  and  the  top  of  the  tree, — 
"  Say,  fellows !  suppose  that  we  all  three  agree 
Not  to  pick  till  I  'm  down;  that  's  fair  for  all 

three  !  " 

That 's  what  shouted  P.  down  to  both  you  and  me. 
"  The  offer  's  too  late  !  too  late  !  "  answered  we, — 
Words  famous  just  then  in  the  French  history. 
The  crown  had  been  shaken  from  Philippe  (Louis), 
And  his  wife  wished  it  kept  in  the  king's  family, 
So  she  tardily  made  an  oifer  like  P., 
When  he  saw  us  there  picking  the  nuts  'neath  the 

tree, 
And  thought  of  his  rights  as  one  of  us  three. 
"  Too  late  !  "  wTas  our  answer.     "  Too  late  !  don't 

you  see ! 
It  might  once  have  been,  but  never  can  be  ! ' 
Suaviter  rnodo,  for  titer  re. 


REMIX  0LLEG1     TRAMP.     HNS 

That  *a  what  we  both  Bhouted  in  answer  to  P., 
•in  the  top  of  our  voice  to  the  top  erf  the  tn 
And  picked  away,  laughing  right  merrily. 
S    i  know  what  a  time  P.  had  t<>  get  down. 
And  how  he  was  torn  from  hi  3  to  hi-  crown, 

And  looked  like  a  scarecrow  just  tossed  by  a  hull. 
With  kU  pockets  empty  and  our  pockets  full! 

••Hut  never  mind  that!"  quoth  P.     UI  don't 

'T  is  a  ill  know,  and  a  joke  is  all  fair. 

it  look  at  my  tro         !  n  quoth  T..  in  a  plight ; 
uTi  r  for  me  to  go  home  by  daylight  !  ' 

We  licM  a  long  council  t«»  make  it  all  right. 

A].  1  ag       I  to  go  home  that  day  in  the  night ; 
An  1  generous!  id  I\  a  lull  >i__rht 

<  tf   the   nuts   we  M    crammed    in    our   pockets    so 

tight,— 
I  >f  the  nuts  ho  had  shaken  us  down  in  his  might, 
When  up  in  the  world  at  that  dazzlin         at  height. 
Dear  J.,  it  still  makes  me  laugh  while  [  write  : 

It  mak<-<  me  a  boy  just  to  think  of  thoee  times, 

And  adds  to  the  fun  when  I  put  them  in  rhymes. 


BUNKERVILLE. 

On  Bunker-shore  a  village  stands, 

Where  salt-sea  waters  flow, 
Between  sand-hills  and  scrub-oak  lands, 

And  winds  know  how  to  blow. 

The  town  was  built  upon  some  whales, 
In  prosperous  years  of  yore, 

Swept  from  the  seas  by  boisterous  gales, 
And  cast  upon  the  shore. 


A  fishy  smell  is  all  around,  — 
"An  ancient,  fish-like  smell ; 

Upon,  and  in,  and  under  ground, 
In  every  spring  and  well. 


?> 


The  houses  there  of  fish  are  built ; 

And  all  the  people  own, 
From  whale-ship  down  to  cradle-quilt. 

Is  made  of  fish  alone. 


BVSKEIIYILL.  107 

They  live  on  fish  ;  they  plant  the  Gab  ; 

They  BOW  the  fish  lik  tin  ; 

Each  garden  ranker-dial*, 

So  is  every  field  and  plain* 

Rflh  for  your  breakfast,  if  you  cat ; 

Rah  for  your  dinner  too; 
Rah  far  your  poultry,  fish  for  meat. 

And  fish  for  tea a  few  ! 

Fish  when  you  sleep,  and  when  you  wak» 
At  home,  and  making  call-  : 
sh  at         '  parties  you  must  take, 
And  fish  in  common  bal 

Fish  when  you  move,  and  when  you  breathe  ; 

Fish  for  your  eyes  and  nose  : 
Fish  in  you,  round  you,  underneath, — 

Where'er  you  go  fish  goes! 

In-doors  and  out.  a  od  down, 

(  to  where  you  will,  or  stay; 
From  fish  in  that  Gab-ridden  town 

!  u  cannot  _  iy« 

I  took  a  hint  from  mine  old  I 
And  tried  a  mid-day  duze  ; 


108  BUNKER  VILLE. 

But  woke  to  find  a  fish's  ghost 
Asleep  within  my  nose  ! 

I  sought  a  clover-field  in  bloom, 
To  breathe  its  scented  air, 

And  filled  my  nose  with  the  perfume 
Of  bunkers  rotting  there. 

A  gardener  saw  that  flowers  I  loved, 
And  kindly  gave  me  some  ; 

I  kept  the  best,  and  lo  !  it  proved 
A  fish-geranium  ! 

Now  some  may  say,  The  people  there 

Must  be  a  scaly  set, 
With  fish-bones  in  the  place  of  hair, 

And  drink  to  keep  them  wet. 

But  't  is  not  so.     Yet  ghosts  of  fish, 

Unseen,  fill  all  the  air ; 
And  spite  of  all  you  do,  or  wish, 

They  haunt  you  everywhere  ! 


ON  PLANTING  THE  APPLE  TREE, 

OPTOSm  WILLIAM   <  ii.  i.  in   r.KVANi 

What  plants  the  man  who  plants  the  apple-tree  ? 
The  apple-tree,  of  com-  !  Bat  what  beside  ': 
T      fatal  fruit  which  tempted  Adam's  bridi 

And  brought  disgrace  nn  all  his  family  ! 

What  plants  the  man  who  plants  the  apple-tree, 
Instead  of  planting  corn,  or  sowing  wheal 
The  germs  of  fruit  which  he  may  never  eat, 

And  bk>ssoms  which  his  eye  may  never  see  ! 

What  pi        the  man  who  plants  the  apple-tree  ? 

A  branch  where  hornets'  nests  may  yet  he  hung, 
And  venturous  urchins  . 
By  daring  to  a88ault  the  sav, 

Who  plants  the  apple-tree  planl  -  of  wind, — 

n-apple  colic,  and  \\  bomach-ache, 

And  bowel-gripes,  which  cat,  and  bind,  and  ral 

Then  turn  about  and  cut,  and  rake,  and  bind. 


110  ON  PLANTING    TEE  APPLE-TREE. 

Some  future  child  may  move  a  tuft  of  grass 
Beneath  that  tree,  to  pick  a  pippin  fair 
Which  tempts  her  with  its  golden  beauty  there, 

And  find  a  snake  coiled  round  the  fruit,  alas ! 

Or,  some  poor  man  may  trim  the  apple-tree, 
And,  getting  absent-minded,  saw  away 
The  limb  on  which  he  stands,  some  future  day, 

And  break  his  worthy  neck  quite  suddenly. 

Or,  piling  dried  limbs  of  said  apple-tree, 

To  haste  the  sluggish  pot,  some  hungry  clown 
May  set  the  house  a-fire,  and  burn  it  down, 

While  hurrying  up  his  dinner,  or  his  tea. 

Or  some  old  sot  may  grind  the  juicy  fruit 
To  make  vile  apple-jack,  to  drink  by  tuns, 
Then  kill  himself,  his  wife,  and  little  ones, 

In  a  delirium,  —  the  drunken  brute  ! 

This  plants  the  man  who  plants  the  apple-tree, 
And  much  beside  to  mortal  ken  unknown  ; 
He  'd  better  let  the  plaguy  tree  alone, 

And  smoke  his  pipe,  (he  smokes,  it  seems  to  me  !) 


POST  PRANDIAL. 

TO   JnllN    TAYLOR   JOHNSTON. 

hn  Taylob  Johnston  :  dear  jo  John, 

I  'm  glad  you  brought  our  class  together  — 

The  Claw  of  '89— last  night 
To  dine  with  you,  a  jovial  crew, 
At  number  eight,  Fifth  Avenue. 

Bach  <lays  should  all  be  marked  with  white. 
The  evening  was  as  fair  and  bright 

As  if  you  'd  ordered  up  the  weather, 
As  well  as  all  that  Luscious  fodder, — 
The  bq        wrt  of  friendship's  soder, — 

Which  we  good  fellows  fed  upon. 

Fi\       tun  had  _  '.    since  last  we  met, 

And  milli         must  have  joined  that  class 
Who  Ac  solved  the  mystery  of  death, — 
On  S        -  hank,  in  Hades  dank, — 

last  laughed,  and  ate.  and  drank 

At  your  good  board.    And  War's  fierce  breath 

lias  dimmed  our  skies  with  flaming  wrath, 


112  POST  PRANDIAL. 

And  burned  our  Land  as  fire  burns  grass ; 
Yet  all  the  Class  you  fed  so  well, 
And  heard  their  "  private  history  "  tell 

Five  years  ago,  are  living  yet. 

It  must  be  in  the  fodder,  John  ; 

It  must  be  in  the  kindly  heart ; 
It  must  be  in  the  pleasing  hope 

Of  welcome  greet,  and  memory  sweet, 

Of  such  good  times  when  fellows  meet, 
That  turns  "  Life's  feeble  string  "  to  rope, 
And  gives  it  strength  and  ample  scope, 

Which,  like  true  love,  is  hard  to  part. 
The  feast  which  feeds  mind,  heart,  and  body, 
And  cheers,  but  not  inflames  like  toddy, 

Is  good  to  lengthen  life,  dear  John. 

'T  was  fun  to  see  the  fellows'  pates, 

Like  ivory  balls  in  wreaths  of  hair, 
And  hear  the  graybeards  talk  and  laugh, 
And  act  like  boys,  with  all  their  noise, 
And  all  their  hopes,  and  jokes,  and  joys  ! 
The  gods  such  nectar  could  not  quaff 
As  sweet  as  ours,  last  night,  by  half, 

Which  Alma  Mater,  always  fair, 
Poured  out  in  Memory's  cup  of  gold 
To  make  us  young,  however  old, — 
To  make  us  young  in  spite  of  fates. 


POST  PRANDIAL.  1 18 

We  may  not  live  fh 
To  meet  again  around  your  board, 

Wit         yer  beard  and  Bhinier  head, 
Ami  wiser  tongue,  <>r  feebler  lum 
T<>  quaff  thejoya  that  make  ua  youn 

N  A  all.      ( >f  BOme  it  may  1         id, 

Thia  one,  and  that,  arc  with  the  dead. 

K<>r  siu-lu  1  pray  that  Christ  the  Lord, 
WTioa '  1 1  open  for  ua  all. 

May         them  grace  to  heed  Hia  call 

To  oome  and  feast  with  Him  at  Borne  ! 


THE   WOOD-NYMPH. 

A  fairy  spirit  dwelling  in  the  wood 
Allured  a  youthful  wanderer  that  way  ; 

For  her  he  sighed,  as  youthful  lovers  should, 
And  sought  her  fond  embrace  from  day  to  day. 

At  dawn,  before  the  awrakened  sun  gets  up, 
Or  yet  the  bee  his  earliest  nectar  sips, 

He  drank  elixir  from  her  leafy  cup, 

And  kissed  the  odors  from  her  fragrant  lips. 

Oft  watched  he  there,  beneath  her  emerald  dome, 
And  seated  on  her  velvet,  mossy  seat, 

To  see  the  chariot  of  the  morning  come, 
And  flash  its  golden  sunbeams  at  his  feet. 

'T  was  ever  new  to  his  most  loving  eyes 
To  see  the  morn  unveil  her  blushing  face  ; 

Then  take  her  casket,  brought  from  Orient  skies, 
And  empty  all  its  jewels  in  the  place. 


TBE    Ii  YMPH.  115 

Th       Lra  which  gentle  Sowen  had  wept  at  night, 
flowers  will  weep  when  with  the  night  alon 

e  ch;         1  at  once  to  flowing  gems  of  light, 
Purer  than  diamonds  on  a  monarch's  thru, 

And  lively  is  the  Nymph  received  she  -  ■  - 
Her  youthful  lover  came  not  thence  away 

Without  tl     .  :'ts  which  made  him  sfar     \  and  brave 
To  do  and  bear  the  bur        of  the  Jay. 

A  jewelled  k  •  hung  around  his  brow, 

Th  Jit  of  purity  and  truth  ; 

Ail  on  hi  k  a  charm,  which  ha:  DOW, 

_ive  it-       irer's  hear!  perpetual  youth. 

with  her  pure,  vestal  flame ; 
Her  healthful  balsam  courses  in  his  blood : 
r  strength  of  oaks  is  in  his  manly  Gram  , 
And  in  his  heart  the  love  of  N  i         s  God. 


THE  WOODS. 

Oh,  the  woods,  the  woods,  the  woods  for  me ! 
With  a  heart  as  light  and  spirit  as  free 
As  the  winds  that  play  on  the  leafy  green, 
Or  the  beams  that  dance  in  the  water's  sheen. 

Let  others  remain  in  the  moody  pen, 
'Mid  the  din,  the  jars,  and  the  rush  of  men, 
And  clink  their  gold  with  a  miser's  glee, 
But  the  sounding  woods  have  the  ring  for  me. 

Or  spend  as  ye  may  the  whirling  day, 
'Mid  the  fairy  throngs  of  the  glad  and  gay, 
And  be  charmed  by  the  music  of  flattery's  words. 
But  I'll  go  list  to  the  song  of  the  birds. 

Or  trim  your  lamp  with  a  brow  as  damp 
As  the  clammy  hand  of  death  can  stamp, 
And  dream  like  spectres  over  your  books  ; 
But  I  'U  go  read  in  the  running  brooks. 

Oh,  the  woods,  the  woods  !    I  hear  your  voice  ! 
Ye  bid  me  once  more  in  your  arms  rejoice  ; 
In  a  mother's  tones  ye  welcome  me  home, 
I  '11  fly  to  your  bosom, —  I  come  !  I  come  ! 


THE   COTTAGE-MAID   AND   HUMBLE-BEE. 

"  Humblb-bbb,  humble-be 

Where  hast  thou  been  ? 
Bammi         i  merrily, 

W         me  within  ! 

Ilm  humble- 

The  cotta        i  cool  for  thee  ; 

N'»  enemy  tear  : 
( )h.  fly  not  BO  hastily. 
Stay  with  me.  stay  with  me, 

1  'in  all  al<>ne  here  : 
inter  within, 
And  hum  while  I  spin, 

And  tell  Hi  t  hnmhle-he 

Where  hast  thou  been  !  " 

"  I  ha-  .  where  the  flowen 

SmDe  -       r  in  the  bowers, 

1  [umble-bum,  humble-bam-fle< 
Where  warbles  t:  \m 

By  its  merry  hank-  preen. 

An«l  lephyra  blow  Lr<'iitly  and  free  !  " 


118     THE  COTTAGE-MAID   AND  HUMBLE-BEE. 

"  Humble-bee,  humble-bee, 
Saw  thou  my  Philomy 

Away  in  the  sweet,  sunny  bowers  ? 
He  called  me  his  pride, 
As  he  tripped  from  my  side  ; 

He  has  gone  to  gather  me  flowers." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  have  seen  him  to-day, 
Beyond  the  bright  fields  far  away, 

Humble-bum,  humble-bum-zee  ! 
And  he  sang  of  his  love 
In  the  cool,  shady  grove, 

But  I  knew  not  he  sang  thus  of  thee !  " 

"  Oh  yes  !  my  sweet  bee,  he  is  mine, 

And  has  promised  forever  to  be  ; 
And  I  —  as  the  ivies  entwine 

Their  arms  round  the  young,  blooming  tree 
So  fondly  will  prove 
Unceasing  in  love, 

And  cling  to  my  Philomy  aye. 
But  stay  !  my  sweet  bee, 
Oh,  haste  not  from  me  ! 

Nor  speed  thy  swift  wings  thus  to  fly, 
But  hum  me  thy  hum 
Till  Philomy  come, 

And  then  I  will  bid  thee  Good-bye  !  " 


A    NOVEMBER    STORM. 

Tin:  ura--  is  frozen  in  the  fields, 

The  forest-trees  arc  bar  . 
And  restless  <1«  »u*l<,  like  driven  ships, 

A  ii«l<linur  tl)r<»ULrli  tl        :r. 

jterday  the  sun  was  bright, 
And  all  the  world  wa        ■ ; 
1         is        chirped,  and  birds  of 
Were  singing  •    erywhei 

From  the  lone  window,  where  I  watch 

The  village  drenched  in  rain, 
I  -  in  chimney-tope 

Try  to  ascend  in  vain  : 
Tl  il v  it  flits  away, 

In  form  i  km  chain  : 

And  winds  are  groaning  in  the  -ky, 
Like  human  souls  in  pain. 

The  dark-winged  Btorm-clouds  smite  the  earth 
With  sadden  gusts  and  dret 

Bef  !••  them  ilv  th.  ttered  leai  68. 

•    Like  Bocks  of  frightened  deer: 


120  A  NOVEMBER  STORM. 

There  seems  no  place  of  rest  for  these 
Dead,  withered  leaves  and  sere, 

But  doomed,  like  ghosts  that  cannot  rest, 
They  wander  all  the  year. 

Between  the  hills  and  swaying  trees 

I  see  the  graveyard  lie ; 
And  near  it  the  old  Church's  spire 

Points  upward  to  the  sky. 
And  now  and  then  I  hear  the  bell 

Tolling  a  funeral  by, 
And  telling,  with  an  iron  tongue, 

That  we  are  sure  to  die. 

The  village  of  the  silent  dead, 

And  this  of  living  men, 
Are  near  together  as  the  hills 

That  border  on  the  glen  ; 
And  many  move  from  this  to  that, 

But  come  not  back  again  : 
And  all  must  take  that  dreaded  path, 

Only  we  know  not  when. 


Tin:  -now. 

Tin:  snow  !  t:.         w !  how  drearily  falls  the  snow  ! 

Mingling  with  fittul  gusts  and  driving  3     ■:. 
Piling  up  new-made  graves  in  many  a  ro 

An  I  weaving  for  the  earth  a  windi  t. 

The  flowers  that  lately  bloomed  upon  our  path, 
N       stiff  and  cold,  torn  rudely  from  their  stem, 

Lie  in  the  footprints  of  the  tempest's  wrath. 
And  fierce,  rough  winds  are  laughing  over  them. 

Tl  w  !  the  dismal  snow  !     ( m.  how  it  - 

1       chinks  and  crannies  where  poor  orphans 
iver, 

.  1  fa'         on  tfa        k  man'-  sunken  eh- 

[ike  :  il  up  Brom  death1       M  ri\ 

The  snow!  the  snow!  how  kindly  falls  the  bo 

It  wra]  s'ai  md  tl      hiverii        urth, 

To  shield  her  when  the  North  winds  rudely  blow, 

And  wakes  her  cold,  dull  1  -  of  mirth. 


122  THE  SNOW. 

How  lovingly  it  folds  the  fields  of  grain, 

And  graves  of  gentle  flowers  that  prostrate  lie, 

Which  must  be  buried  ere  they  rise  again, 
And  cannot  quickened  be  except  they  die. 

The  snow  !  the  snow !  how  kindly  falls  the  snow  ! 

It  calls  sweet  Mercy  forth  to  help  the  poor, 
And  bids  her  heal  the  wounds  of  human  woe, 

And  seek  her  work  of  love  from  door  to  door. 

Oh  happy  they  whom  God  hath  taught  to  feel 
For  hearts  laid  bare  to  Winter's  rudest  breath ; 

O'er  them  the  snow  of  age  shall  gently  steal, 
And  peace  reign  o'er  the  winter  of  their  death. 


DESOLATION. 

The  earth  seems  dead  ;  the  crusted  snow 

[a  like  the  marble  on  a  tomb  : 
<  lad  bra  9,  like  skeletons, 

I  last  fitful  shadow  -  o'er  the  -       u. 

i  raying  branc  ird  winds  Btrip 

'Jlit'  frozen  tears  that  hang  on  them; 

And  wailing  voices  rise  and  fall 
In  Bad  and  solemn  requiem. 

The  East  wind,  harn<         to  a  cloud, 
r  the  dismal  earth  to-nighl 
And,  rushing  by  the  half-lit  moon, 

With  rod  .        gh  blast  pat  out  her  light 

The  hungry  wolf  bowk  to  th< 

And,  restless,  scent       ch  thing  astir; 
Oh  ye,  who  pray  at  home  to-night, 

Pray  for  the  poor,  lost  traveller  ! 


SUNSHINE   AND   SHADOW. 

TO   MY   WIFE. 

It  is  not  always  Summer,  Love, 

It  can't  be  always  June  ; 
But  when  the  Winter  's  coldest,  Love, 

The  Spring  is  coming  soon. 

It  can't  be  always  day,  my  Love, 
It  must  be  sometimes  night ; 

But  when  the  night  is  darkest,  Love, 
'T  is  just  before  the  light. 

We  cannot  always  rest,  my  Love, 
For  they  must  work  who  eat ; 

But  when  our  toil  is  hardest,  Love, 
Our  rest  is  twice  as  sweet. 

The  brightest  skies  will  surely,  Love, 

Be  sometimes  overcast ; 
But  sure  we  are  the  longest  storm 

Will  clear  away  at  last. 


3H1NE  AND   SHADOW.  L25 

We  cannot  walk  as  pilgrims  do 

And  bear  no  burdens  her* 
We  cannot  walk  with  friends  on  earth 
And  drop  no  friendly  tear. 

Bat  burdens  heavier  >w 

When  near  the  journey's  end  ; 
And  hearts  that  break  with  mortal  love 

Immortal  love  can  mend. 

The  treasure  which  we  loee  on  earth, 
Though  hidden  in  the  ground, 

Shall,  when  we  reach  our  journey's  end, 

In  safety  all  be  found. 

Then  cheerily  let  us  meet  life's  ills, 

And  all  life's  duties  <lo ; 
But  while  we  hear  the  cross,  my  Loi 

We  '11  keep  the  crown  in  view  ! 


TRAY   A   PRISONER. 

Chained  to  his  narrow  house  by  night, 
Chained  to  his  narrow  house  by  day, 

For  months  and  years,  a  saddening  sight, 
Is  our  old  friend,  poor  prisoner  Tray. 

His  glossy  hair  is  mixed  with  white  ; 

Affectionate  and  kind  is  he  ; 
A  watchful  guardian  of  the  night, 

And  faithful  as  a  dog  can  be. 

Quick  as  his  master  gave  command 

The  dog  was  ready  to  obey  ; 
And  yet  no  felon  in  the  land 

Is  manacled  like  poor  dog  Tray. 

All  guiltless  is  the  dog  of  crime  ; 

His  only  fault  is  love  of  play ; 
And  't  is  a  sad,  long,  weary  time 

Since  aught  of  that  had  poor  dog  Tray. 


7/7.1  )'    .1    PL  -      R.  127 

But  be  was  born  t<>  better  days, 

Ail  better  days  had  tasted  yn 
Bad  not  his  mast  r'a  fickle  waj 

F       ken  Tray  for  some  new  pet 

\  i  well-known  calls  U)  tramp  tl  t. 

No  whistling  forth  to  festive  play, 
\  rce  an  answer  to  his  greet 

N  poor  prisoner  Tray. 

The  dog  discarded  tain  would  lick 

e  hand  that  smites,  though  it  might  -lay, 

that  deals  the  cruel  kick. 

Tray. 

Yes,  for  his  m        ■  faithful  Tray 
Would  risk  his  life  to  serve  or  Bare  ; 

And  were  b        in  and  borne  away. 
Tl,  old  pine  apon  his  gnu 

For  Tray  was  (Mice  a  favorii 

And  having  loved  will  V 
The  in  not  B  bit 

Of  love  remainis       ■  poor  Tray. 

Oh,  faith]  n's  incoosi      y  ! 

Oh,  faithful  dog  that  loves  alway  ! 

rn  would  th<       _     ight  be,  — 

I   WOUl  n  in:  JOpy 


128  TRAY  A  PRISONER. 

His  frantic  joy  when  any  one 

Came  near  as  if  to  loose  his  chain,  — 

His  waitings  when  the  act  undone 

Showed  him  his  hopes  had  been  in  vain, 

Brought  forth  from  timid  lips  the  word,  — 
"  The  dog  is  mad  !  "     Alack,  the  day ! 

Had  that  expression  been  unheard, 
It  had  not  been  so  hard  for  Tray. 

Nowr  chained  and  muzzled  both  at  once, 
Like  maniac  in  strait-jacket  clad, 

Is  poor  clog  Tray,  lest  coward  dunce 
May  think  the  dog  is  going  mad. 

They  took  him  from  the  sunny  air, 
They  shackled  him  like  felon-slave  ; 

But  better  had  they  slain  him  there 
Than  bound  him  living  to  his  grave. 

The  prisoner  of  Chilon,  't  is  said, 

Within  his  cell  grew  old  and  gray,  — 

A  living  corpse  that  breathed,  though  dead ; 
And  such,  alas !  is  poor  dog  Tray. 

No  wonder  that  he  wastes  his  breath 

In  long-drawn  moans,  by  night  and  day ; 

It  is  the  poor  dog's  prayer  for  death, 
And  yet  he  prays  in  vain,  poor  Tray. 


THE   WORLD    BLEEPS  MOVING. 
We  are  floating,  we  are  rushing 

<  hi  the  rapid  tide  of  time 
wn  tlie  vista  of  the  prophets, 
To  the  onrand  and  glorious  clim 

We  have  heard  the  prophets  preachi 

I  tf  a  glorious  1  >.ty  to  be, 
When  the  earth  shall  join  the  heavens 

In  a  filial  jubilee. 

And  we  know  the  world  keeps  moving 
Toward  thai  glorious  coming  tim<  . 

1    r  we  hear  its  chariots  rumbling 
Iii  a  march  that  is  sublimi 

For  we  hear  the  heavens  ringing 
With  the  triumphs  of  the  fr< 

And  we  hear  the  trump  of  Freedom 
Somul  i  j  ijous  jubft 

All  the  1:        "f  the  Republi 

Ued  with  bio  ><1  fr  vy  clime, 

9 


130  THE   WORLD  KEEPS  MOVING. 

Beats  in  union  with  the  music 
Of  the  grand  and  glorious  time  : 

To  the  trumpet-march  of  Freedom, 

To  its  jubilee  and  song, 
As  it  marches  with  the  current 

Of  the  glorious  time  along. 

Men  are  carried  with  the  current, 
Though  resisting  as  they  may, 

Past  the  landmarks  of  the  ages 
To  the  coming  golden  Day. 

For  they  cannot  turn  the  tide  back, 
And  they  cannot  stay  the  sun  ; 

For  the  light  will  shine  from  heaven, 
And  the  living  waters  run. 

Not  the  Fates  of  the  old  heathen, 
But  the  God  of  Christian  lands 

Holds  the  destiny  of  nations 
In  His  own  Almighty  hands. 

All  the  bright  and  starry  heavens, 
Seas,  and  earth,  are  all  His  own  ; 

And  the  rulers  of  the  nations 
Are  the  subjects  of  His  Throne. 


Till    WORLD  Kl'i  PS   MO  VIS  181 

Just  as  bow  as  Earth,  revolvin 
Makes  the  circuit  of  the  Btai 

back  where  it  fir        irted 
To  the  Morning's  golden  bai 

B    the  world  will  keep  on  movn 
(  ha  the  rushing  tide  of  time, 

rFill  it  reach  the  gates  of  Eden, 
In  the  gloriou        Iden  clime. 


WILL   THE  WORLD  MISS  YOU  WHEN   YOU 

DIE? 

I  threw  a  pebble  from  the  shore 

Upon  a  gentle  wave, 
And  silently  it  sank  away 

Into  a  silent  grave. 

And  ere  the  ripple  which  it  made 

Had  died  upon  the  shore, 
Another  pebble  filled  the  place 

Which  that  had  filled  before. 

In  vain  its  former  bed  to  trace 
With  curious  search  I  tried ; 

Another  pebble  filled  the  place 
Which  that  had  occupied. 

I  plucked  a  rose-bud  from  its  stem,  — 

The  hurt  stem  bled  awhile  ; 
But  other  rose-buds,  opening  there, 

Still  made  the  Summer  smile. 


LL  THE  WORLD  MISS  TOV  WHEN  )  <>U  DIE?     1 

A  little  songster  of  the  groi 
Lay  stricken  at  my  feet, 

But  -till  thf  _:•    e  -  k  '  .■  1  full  of  birds 
Win  re  full  t. 


A  merry  boy  was  borne  away 

By  death,  —  his  tasks  all  done, — 
Bui  other  boys  so  filial  the  streets 

■     I  <IM  lmt  miss,  that  OD 


T    read  the  histories  of  th<       tat 

And  mighty  sons  of  men, 
T  would  seem  the  world  had  come  to  nou 

I  bless  those  men  had  been. 

Bat  when  they  died,  the  world  swept  on, 

With  all  its  rush  and  mar, 
As  if  those  great  and  mighty  men 

W  i  on  the  shore. 

Let  not  the  vain  and  beautiful, 
Lei  not  the  bom  (J  <  >ng, 

N«>r  let  th  tnd  mighty  think 

The  world  will  miss  them  long. 

They  '11  only  leave  their  pli       here 

For  otfa  p  in. 

And  all  tie-  world  will  ] 
As  if  the  r  bad  been. 


134     WILL  THE  WORLD  MISS  YOU  WHEN  YOU  DIE? 

Some  hearts  will  bleed,  some  houses  mourn 

When  they  shall  pass  away ; 
But  't  will  not  clog  the  wheels  of  Time, 

Nor  cloud  one  shining  day. 

To  man  his  schemes  are  all  the  world ; 

But  to  the  world  poor  man 
Is  but  a  drop  in  its  huge  sea, 

An  atom  in  its  plan. 

And  yet  he  thinks,  —  O  vanity  ! 

That  all  the  world  will  stop 
Without  this  atom  !  and  the  sea 

Will  dry  without  this  drop  ! 

So  may  we  live,  that  though  the  world 

Won't  miss  us  when  we  die, 
Another  and  a  better  land 

Will  welcome  us  on  high  ; 

That  from  our  mouldering  dust  may  spring, 

Like  fruits  from  buried  seeds, 
The  harvests,  ever  ripening, 

Of  good  and  deathless  deeds. 


HAMMER    AWAY. 

A  brawny-armed  blacksmith  worked  at  his  bra 
In  his  ah  >p  by  the  wayside,  h  an  oak's  Bhade, 

And  hammering  away  a  _     1  living  he'made 

Till  caught  in  a  trap  in  a  [  y  laid. 

His  cost  i  iers  tlicn  began  t<>  drop  off. 
A  tVw  of  them  saying,  in  w<>nl<  rather  rough, 
He  '-I  |  at  the  nigh-sb       n  the  oflHi       *s  hoof, 
which  kiii<l  of  ram-work  they  M  had  _h. 

Aii'l    there,  I  He  to  scold  or  to        ir. 

r  tired  erf  finding  him  prea    .'  —  rare  : 
Tl:  where  he  was,  and  1;*'  was  n't  there. 

So  tli  irjobs  to  a  smithy  elsew] 

His     isl        rs  thus  from  many  were  few, 
And  shortly  from  much  he  *d  nothing  to  do. 
And  all  hi  _ran  t«»  look  blae, 

taking  their  color  from  his  common  hoe. 


136  HAMMER  AWAY. 

With  nothing  to  do,  he  shut  up  his  shop, 
Then  went  to  the  tavern  and  there  made  a  stop, 
Till  soon  he  had  nothing  to  put  in  his  crop, 
And  drew  very  near  his  very  last  drop. 

His  wife  and  two  children,  wasted  and  thin 
From  pinching  and  starving  and  taking  work  in, 
And  crying  about  the  clays  that  had  been, 
At  last  found  a  refuge  among  her  own  kin. 


lo~  ~«*v.~0 


Just  then  there   came  one  of  the  tribe  who  be- 
lieves 
In  helping  a  man  that  falls  among  thieves ; 
The  Samaritan's  name  was  Uncle  Ben  Reeves,  — 
The  blacksmith  once  cured  his  horse  of  the  heaves. 

Says  old  Uncle  Ben  to  the  blacksmith  just  then, 
"How  are  you,  my  friend  ?'    says  old  Uncle  Ben; 
"  You  don't  look  as  wTell  nor  as  thrifty  as  when 
You  worked  in  the  shop  down  here  in  the  glen." 

By  little  the  blacksmith  told  of  the  evil 
That  led  him  from  work  to  the  groggery  revel ; 
And  said  that  he  felt  with  the  beasts  on  a  level, 
And  knew  that  he  could  n't  be  far  from  the  Devil. 

"  But  can't  help  it  now  ;  the  evil  is  done  ; 
I  've  nothing  to  do  ;  my  custom  is  gone  ; 


n  am  urn  AWAY.  18? 

And  money  and  credit  and  friends       ry  oi 
And  1  am  as  weak  as  a  weed  id  the  sun." 

uGo  to  work  I '        -  Uncle  Ben  Reeves  ;  thru  Bays 
he,— 

u  I  want  vou  to  work  a  whole  in«>nth  for  ni<i  : 

I  '11  pay  in  advance  :  here  'a  the  money,  yon  see  ; 
And  your  work  at  the  first  quite      ly  will  be  : 

M  Thron        d  yonr  shop,  and  in  your  Bhop  stay. 

me  as  1  to  the  whole  working  day, 

And  hammer  your  anvil,  —  hammer  away  ! 
Bui  at  first,  for  yon  're  weak,  as  yon  Bay. 

"  But  hammer  your  anvil,  day  in  and  day  out. 
That  they  who  |         y  may  know  you  're  about : 
And  _      all  a  smile,  but  no  one  a  pout, 
And  hammer  away  with  a  Bong  and  a  Bhont  ! 

II  /  7/  do  it .' '    he  answered  :  and  then  did  it.  to 

inng,  ere  yet  the  grass  lost  its  do- 
He  lit  u] i  his  fires,  with  c        \^vy  h 

1  hammered  away  as  he  used  to  do. 

. 

He  felt  very  weak  the  very  first  day. 
But  felt  his  strength  coming  without  much  delay; 
And  ere  a  week  passed  began  t<>  feel  gay 
hammering  away,  and  hammered  away. 


138  HAMMER  AWAY, 

The  passers-by  heard  his  old  anvil  ring 
Day  in  and  day  out,  and  the  good  news  got  wing, 
And  one  and  another  soon  hastened  to  bring 
A  horse  to  be  shod,  or  some  such  like  thing. 

For  thev  knew  that  he  used  to  work  with  a  skill 
Which  verv  few  had,  and  worked  with  a  will : 
And    never    charged    twice    the  same  job  in  his 

bill, 
Until  he  was  troubled  with  worms  of  the  still. 


His  wife's  gentle  heart,  when  she  the  news  heard, 
Just  fluttered  and  skipped,  and  sang  like  a  bird  ; 
And  first  bowing  down  to  thank  the  good  Lord, 
She  went,  like  a  sunbeam,  to  smile  on  his  board. 

How  happy  they  lived,  with  labor  and  song, 
At  Church  on  Sundays,  good  people  among ; 
Respected  by  all,  both  the  old  and  the  young, 
I  'd  like  to  relate,  but  't  would  take  rather  long. 

What  now,  in  conclusion,  I  just  wish  to  say, 
Is,  —  Hammer  away,  boys  !     Hammer  away  ! 
Whatever  your  task,  be  it  hard  as  it  may, 
You  '11  do  it  and  win,  if  you  hammer  away. 

If  you  would  be  healthy  and  wealthy  and  gay, 
With  hearts  all  as  pure  as  blossoms  of  May, 


ham  \tri:  a  WA  r.  139 

And  namea  all  a-  9W661  Bfl  the  smell  « »f  ni'W  ha;. 

Why.  hammer  away,  ^«>ys!     Bammer  away  ! 

If  you  would  retrieve  your  I         some  da 
Or  keep  the  old  Devil  and  such  folk  at  hay. 

Or  climb  up  ;t  I  where  good  people  stay, 

Why,  hammer  away,  boys  I      Hammer  away  ! 


HOW  JOHNNY  WAS   SPOILED. 

Our  Johnny  has  caused  some  trouble  of  late  : 
The  neighbors  are  scolding  an  uncommon  rate, 
And  threaten  the  boy  some  dreadful  hard  fate  ; 
I  therefore  would  like  the  truth  to  relate. 

The  fact  is,  our  Johnny  was  always  a  pet, 
With  sweet  glossy  curls  and  bright  eyes  of  jet ; 
All  said  to  his  mother,  wThose  eyelids  grew  wet, 
"  Your  babe  is  the  prettiest  we  ever  met.'3 

Of  course  he  at  first  must  have  his  own  way ; 
As  matter  of  course  he  took  it  each  day, 
As  other  babes  do.     But  it  grieves  me  to  say 
He  's  kept  on  that  course  till  I  have  grown  gray. 

His  mother's  own  fault !     She  was  always  too  mild 
For  a  fellow  like  Johnny,  who  's  naturally  wild ; 
And  had  it  not  been  for  his  mother,  the  child  — 
How  often  I  've  told  her!  —  would  not  have  been 
spoiled. 


//  roSNNT  WA  OILED.  1  11 

At  <  \  i  :.::._.  ;i>  -  I   eame  uj»  town, 

She  used  to  complain,  h         [sal  down, 

That  in  v  boy  had  broken  bod       bher  boy 'a  crown, 

And  acted  the  tyrant,  or  else  like  a  clown, 

lie  'd  do  as  he  pleased,  and  would  not  obey, 
Ai  I  she  had  to  coax  and  I        r  him  all  day; 
An  I  still  the  young  one  would  hare  his  own  way, 
Do  what  she  would  do,  Bay  what  she  might  Bay. 

lie  ruled  the  whole  house,  as  if  he  were  king  ! 
II  >  m  >ther,  yoa  know,  should  have  clipped  off  that 
wing : 

But  no!  all  she  did  wa<  to  brag  of  the  thing  : 

I  knew  all  the  while  what  trouble  "t  would  bring. 

Time  came  when  we  ought  to  ha?     s  nt  him  to 

tool  : 

Our  Johnny,  I  Bay  it,  is  far  from  a  fool : 

But  he  would  not  _    :  but  grew  ?ery  cool 

To  his  parents,  who  're  right  in  such  things 

rule. 

He  :  It  half-insulted.  I  a      br  his  cheek  : 

II  •  hurt  :   BO  1.  dd  not  ,k 

To  his  mother,  or  me*  for  i         than  i  week  : 

me  to  see  him  in  Bucfa  a  long  piqc 


142  BOW  JOHNNY  WAS  SPOILED. 

So  Johnny  staid  home :  and  his  mother  then  said 
She  was  not  surprised  that  the  child  had  a  dread 
Of  going  to  school,  because  she  had  read 
That  study  sometimes  affected  the  head. 

I  had  to  submit,  for  I  did  not  know 
But  that  what  she  said  was  really  so ; 
Besides,  as  I  said,  the  boy  would  not  go, 
And  I  did  not  like  to  make  him  my  foe. 

Our  Johnny  was  fast  with  both  fists  and  tongue, 
And  very  much  slandered  for  a  fellow  so  young ; 
Brother  Tom  went  so  far  —  whose  nose  he  had 


wrung 


To  predict  that  the  boy  would  one  day  be  hung. 

I  said  to  his  mother,  "  Don't  let  him  do  so, 
But  whip  him! — not  leave  it  for  me,  Love,  to  do  ; 
For  I  come  home  tired  !  ;     But  that  was  no  go  ; 
She  did  not  at  all  like  to  do  it,  you  know. 

She  did  whip  him  once  with  a  piece  of  a  string, 
But  then  begged  his  pardon,  and  gave  him  a  ring  ; 
And  promised  that  when  I  came  home  I  'd  bring 
Him  candy,  or  toys,  or  some  pretty  thing, 

And  cried  all  that  night  to  the  very  most  brink 
Of  hysterics,  and  scolded  herself,  just  to  think 


BOW  JOHN  HI  WAS  SPOILED,  148 

as  she  called  him)  hit  darling  sweet 

And  none  of  ns  alept  that  long  night  a  wink  ! 

They  say  that  1  ought  to  have  whipped  him.     I 

Bhould, 
r>ut  Johnny  was  Bmart  like  when  he  was  rude  ; 
And  when  I  had  ought  t->,  I  then  never  would; 
Ami  now  he  -  a  i  big  1  don't  believe  I  could. 

And  after  all  Baid,  the  heart  of  the  lad 
I-  not,  at  tli-        bom,  bo  dreadfully  bad  ; 
He  cute  up  Bometimes,  and  makes  us  feel  sad, 
But  then  he  *s  the  only  dear  boy  we  have  had. 

We  do  not  know  yet  what  may  be  his  late  ; 
He  don't  lik         work,  —  that  's  his  special  hate; 
Hia  mother  believes  he  'II  be  something      eat. — 
**  Perha]  -."  as  A  . "  the  I  Irate!" 

I  really  do  hope  that  her  words  may  prove  true  ! 
I  '11  do  what  I  can  to  put  the  boy  through  : 
1  'm  Bony  his  m  >ther  has  Bpoiled  Johnny  so, 

/  afU  r  iiH  I'ut  lie  7/  <lo ! 


DR.   KANE. 

Dr.  Kane  did  a  good  thing  for  science, 
And  showed  a  good  heart,  and  so  forth, 

In  going  for  Sir  John  Franklin 

To  search  in  the  seas  of  the  North. 

But  then  in  removing  the  barriers 

Of  the  kingdom  of  Seignior  John  Frost, 
And  in  breaking  the  Arctic  Circle, 
He  could  not  have  counted  the  cost. 

He  could  not  have  thought  of  the  mischief 
Of  fumbling  around  the  North  Pole  ; 

Of  pulling,  and  bending,  then  leaving 
It  dangling  and  loose  in  its  hole. 

Now  the  cold  all  escapes,  and  keeps  pouring 

Wherever  it  wishes  to  go, 
And  the  glory  of  opening  the  Passage 

Has  covered  the  country  with  snow. 


SPOT, 

A   LRTL1    l>"»,    WHO   02CFOBTUHATELT    DIED   OF  OLD    a 

Ann  art  thou  dead,  ]  oor  lit' 

I-  bhi  thy  doleful  lot, 

To  li  ath  the  ground  and  rot  ? 

Poor  little  8] 

Ala-  !   a  .  I  are  thy         -  all  g 

Are  all  thy  t<'il<  ami  pleasures  done, 

And  all  thy     urthly  races  run  ? 

P     r  little  Spot  ! 

Ah.  yes,  a1;!-,  "t  ifi  *t  is  30  ! 

iv  dismal  la"  1  I  know. 

And  all  thy  wo  . 

Poor  little  S] 

N  .  more  thou  It  skip  and  pran  at, 

And  rideloi        mt  thy  it, 

And  a  -  with  canine  ] 

Poor  little  Sj 

10 


146  SPOT. 

Thou  'It  bark  and  bite  and  drum  the  floor, 
And  scratch  the  fleas,  and  snarl  no  more, 
For  all  thy  flea-bites  now  are  o'er, 

Poor  little  Spot ! 

Ah,  once  thou  wast,  but  now  art  not, 
And  much,  I  fear,  wilt  be  forgot, 
For  thou  art  rotted  to  a  dot, 

Poor  little  Spot ! 

But,  Spot !  thou  liest  not  alone  ; 

To  join  thee,  kings  have  left  a  throne  ; 

And  from  thy  fate  I  learn  my  own, 

Poor  little  Spot ! 


BETTER   LATE   THAN   XKVER." 

I\  ip  lost  and  lonely  Btafc 

In  this  our  world  so  desolate, 

"T  tter  far  to  k>Ye  than  ha* 

And  b  iriy  love  than  late, 

But  ••  better  late  than  never." 

To  walk  the  path  of  life  alon  . 
With  but  <>ne  heart  to  call  our  own, 
II  irdens  the  one  heart  into  stoc 
u  3  .'  "   is  from  God's  throne, 

And  ••  better  late  than  never." 


it  he  who  '  time  and  place 

Be  '11  I         a  friend,  then  turn-        face 
Another  way,  or  mopes  his  \ 
And  i  -  with  this  sola* 

*T  is  *•  better  late  than  nei     . 


>> 


That  man  's  a  tl  II<    r         I  friend 

Of  what  ]        knnot  give,  nor  lend,  — 


148  "BETTER  LATE   THAN  NEVER." 

Of  that  which  lost  knows  no  amend  ; 
His  motto  he  had  better  end, 

'Tis  "  better  late  than  never." 

And  so  the  man  who,  Sabbath  day, 
Comes  late  to  Church,  —  his  usual  way,  — 
Because  he  snores  while  others  pray, 
And  dreams  of  what  so  many  say, 

?T  is  "  better  late  than  never." 

And  she  who  flaunts  her  skirts  and  strings, 
And  furbelows,  and  such  gay  things, 
Just  as  the  Choir  the  first  hymn  sings, 
And  gaze  of  all  upon  her  brings 

By  "  better  late  than  never.'3 

With  Fashion  for  her  trumpeter, 
She  comes  not  as  a  worshipper, 
But  that  fools'  eyes  may  worship  her, 
And  sets  the  audience  all  astir 

With  "  better  late  than  never." 

It  is,  if  we  'd  undo  a  wrong, 

Or  help  the  weak  against  the  strong, 

Or  pluck  a  friend  from  blood-hound  throng, 

'T  is  best  be  quick, —  not  wait  too  long  ; 

Though  "  better  late  than  never." 


TTER  LA  TE    TIL.  :.  VI L  1  19 

And  better  early  learn  to  view 

A nl  love  the  pure,  the  Lr 1.  and  true, 

With  holy  I       the  heart  imbue, 
And  do  whate'er  we  find  t<»  d<>. 

Though  "better  late  than  never." 


Too  e a  rli i  *$ 

S  ould  be  the  word  for  Church  and  State : 

It  i<  thr  motto  of  the  g 

And  shall  be  mine, —  1  '11  never  prai 

"V  ifl  *•  r  late  than  never  !  M 

Be  ap  and  doi  Work  or  )  lay  ! 

Lou  it  all.  —  while  not  a -a 

A  mom<        t  the  livelong  day  ! 
Y'»ur  litV  'a  ;     action  !     Never  Bay 

"T  is  **  better  late  than  nev- 

B    |  rompt  !    Be  early,  like  the  sun  : 
(  »  bave  d«ni-  . 

The  time  and  place  your  r  run, 

And  y         all  win  ey  h         ron, 

And  with  them  forever  ! 


A  WELCOME   TO  MY  YOUNGEST  COUSINS. 

Welcome,  welcome,  little  cousins, 

To  this  ,world  of  ours  ! 
Welcome,  though  ye  came  in  dozens, 

Buds  of  human  flowers  ! 

Fragrant  from  the  hills  eternal, 

Earthly  airs  ye  taste  ; 
Making  earth  a  garden  vernal, 

Otherwise  a  waste. 

Wrapped  within  the  folds  of  beauty 

Of  your  bodies  fair, 
Lie  the  germs  of  love  and  duty,  — 

Germs  of  joy  and  care. 

Hid  beneath  the  lovely  lashes 

Of  those  lustrous  eyes, 
Kindling  with  increasing;  flashes, 

Fire  immortal  lies. 


A   W  MY  '  ST  <  0U8IN8.     LSI 

Welcome  are  ye,  littl 

Yet  "ii  sliall  kn« 

Earth  has  many  Bnarea  and  dangers, — 

Many  cups  of  w< 

Should  the  loving  angels  keeping 

Watch  around  your  bed, 
( live  you  sn  inder  Bleeping, 

Such  ;        ep  the  dead,  — 

Happier  thus  than  left  to  grope  in 

Sinful  world  like  oura  ; 
Human  buds  tl  st  open 

In  immortal  bowers. 

Infai        ib  in  ( !hrist  ire  grafted, 

When  by  death  assailed  : 
Breath  of  flowers  to  heaven  is  wafted,  — 

M  ming  dew  exhaled. 

But  if  for  «>ur  Bakes      aainii 

I  hi  the  Bhores  Of  tim    . 

Be  ;        er  upward  trainii 
For  the  better  clim< 

Ifay  the  children-loving  Saviour 

II1!  you  in  his  an 
And  ad  >rn  your  li        havior 

With  i  harms. 


152    A    WELCOME  TO  MY  YOUNGEST  COUSINS. 

Stirring  times  now  greet  your  coming  ; 

Wheels  of  busv  earth, 
Whirling  round  with  constant  humming, 

Hail  with  joy  your  birth. 

Hands  and  hearts,  and  noble  daring, 

Souls  of  truth  we  need, 
In  this  age  of  ages,  bearing 

Final  harvest-seed. 

Welcome,  therefore,  little  cousins  ! 

Not  with  pleasure  small ; 
Were  ye  twice  ten  scores  of  dozens, 

Welcome  to  you  all ! 


Till:  OLD  FLAG. 

APRIL   1881. 

Flag  of  tl  10  brave  and  free  ! 
Flag  of  oar  Liberty  ! 

(  ';'  •  ing  : 

Flag  of  our  father's  prid 
With  their  i         heart    -     od  <lyed, 
When  fighti        ide  by  ride, 

<  hir  pledg        •  bring. 

By  their  pore  martyr-blood) 
P<  ire  1  on  ( lolumbi         -1 

For  liberty  : 
By  all  their  <1         of  old, 

ir  hunger,  thirst,  and  cold, 
Their  battles  fierce  and  bold, 

We  '11  Btand  ^y  thee  I 

Thy  *  shall  wa 

To  guard  the  homea  th  i ; 

T 


154  THE  OLD   FLAG. 

Upon  oppression's  night, 
To  give  the  patriot  light, 
And  make  the  dark  world  bright 
With  hope  divine. 

We  pledge  our  heart  and  hand 
To  bear  thee  o'er  the  land 

That  God  made  free, « — 
Till  all  its  vales  and  hills, 
Its  rivers  and  its  rills,  — 
Till  the  whole  nation  thrills 

With  Victory  ! 

Fear  not,  0  Ship  of  State  ! 
Though  pirates  with  fierce  hate 

May  cross  thy  sea :  — 
Fear  not ;  at  thy  mast-head 
We've  nailed  the  blue,  white,  red 
Old  Flag  !     Our  fathers  bled, 

And  so  can  we  ! 

We  love  each  tattered  rag 
Of  that  old  war-rent  flag 

Of  Liberty ! 
Flag  of  great  Washington  ! 
Flag  of  brave  Anderson  ! 
FIa£  of  each  mother's  son 


"C 


Who  dares  be  free  ! 


THE  OLD  FL  .1-  155 

( )  ( rod,  our  banner  Bar* 
Make  it  for  way< 

( -    \  -  \r  our  flag  ! 
Preserve  it-  honor  pure, 
Unstained  may  it  endun  . 
And  keep  our  freedom  sore  : 

Gu'l  save  our  flag  I 


OUR  COUNTRY'S   CALL. 

Arm  for  the  rescue  !     Freemen,  arm  ! 

Your  country,  calls.     Away  ! 
Now  leave  the  pleasant  haunts  of  peace 

For  war  and  bloody  fray  ; 
Forsake  the  plough  and  take  the  sword, 

For  now  your  country  needs 
Her  sons  to  till  with  sword  and  blood, 

And  plant  heroic  deeds  ! 
To  arms  !     To  arms  !    Yrour  Country  reels 
Beneath  the  tramp  of  traitor-heels, 
And  like  a  mother,  calls  to  you 
'Gainst  traitor-sons,  —  calls  to  the  true  ! 

Arm  for  the  rescue  !     Freemen,  arm  ! 

Remember  Washington  : 
Behold  !  he  beckons  with  his  hand, 

And  bids  each  freeman's  son 
Now  dare  to  die  to  save  the  land 

He  gloriously  won ! 


01' 1:  S   CAUL  157 

Remember  his  h  ind, 

1 1 -A  well  their  work  was  doi 
And  let  Dot  traitor-hands  y 

Th         rioua  ban  >ur  j 

X    up  fathers  -       1  in  Gelds  of  blood 
When  battling  in  the  ca  (     1. 

On  t  i  !      Pre  o  ! 

From  i  }%  battle-field 

The  gathered  fruits,  in  ful  -, 

Shall  ]        I  to  mil  : 

wn-t:  D  m 

: Kill  eat  the  bread  you  _ 
A      :  el  their  limb         w  Btroi        gain  ; 

Dea<l  -  -hall  J  n  live  ! 

And  other  la 
That  look  to  or  liber! 

til  harvesl  -  reap  that  crown  the  - 
Where  fin  for  their  ( 1    I  ! 


VOLUNTEERS'  SONG. 

For  President  and  Liberty, 

For  home  and  native  land, 
We  '11  bear  the  banner  of  the  free, 

And  pledge  life,  heart,  and  hand. 
We  '11  guard  the  Union,  side  by  side, 

The  many  States  in  one  ; 
The  land  of  freemen's  hope  and  pride, 

Where  bravest  deeds  were  done  ; 
The  land  for  which  our  fathers  died, 

The  land  of  Washington  ! 

The  legacy  our  fathers  gave 

Was  Freedom,  and  the  blood 
Which  rather  craves  a  hero's  grave 

Than  bear  a  tvrant's  rod. 
And  all  the  blood  those  men  of  yore 

Transmitted  to  our  veins, 
For  Freedom  we  will  freely  pour, 

As  summer  pours  the  rains 
To  cover  fields  with  harvests  o'er 

Where  farmers  sow  their  grains. 


VOLUNTEERS'   S<   \  L59 

When  traitors  hurl  the  battle  Bhock 
To  rend  the  Land  in  twain, 

(  Mir  Union  ranks  shall  be  the  r< 

'Gainst  which  they  dash  in  vain  : 

F<>r  (io»l,  who  helped  our  lathers  when 

They  fought  for  liberty, 
Will  help,  by  us.  their  can-'  again, 

If  we  but  dare  be  fire  . 
And  Bcorn  to  make  of  other  men 

The  slaw-  vi        >ra  to  I 

1  ".•  i.  tV<  for  FreedoD        ike  ! 

From  mountain  and  from  Bhore, 
'in  busy  mart  and  distant  lab 

I  '-in  •.  join  tli  1  war ! 
For  President  and  Liberty, 

An  I  for  the  Union  stand, 
Till  valor,  crowned  by  victory, 

II  *U8hed  the  traitor  hand. 

And  borne  the  banner  of  the  fn 
Onee  more  through  all  the  land  ! 


LIVE,  KEPUBLIC! 

Onward  !     On  for  the  Republic  ! 

Live  the  Union  evermore  ! 
Down  with  traitors,  down  with  rebels  ; 

Quench  the  treason  in  its  gore. 
Hear  it  as  the  Lord's  command, 

As  our  fathers  heard  of  yore, 
Draw  the  sword  for  native  land : 

Live,  Republic,  evermore  ! 

Up,  and  onward,  to  the  rescue  ! 

Let  the  serried  traitors  know 
Loyal  men  in  honest  causes 

Strike  by  far  the  heaviest  blow. 
While  the  heavens  keep  smiling  on  us, 

And  the  rivers  onward  flow, 
Freemen  ne'er  will  turn  their  backs  on 

Freedom's  haughty  traitor-foe. 

Up,  and  at  them  !  To  the  rescue  ! 
Close  the  chasm  yawning  wide 


l.ivi\   REPUBLIC  161 

They  have  cleft  for  our  destruction  ; 

nidi  the  men  who  dare  divM 

Hurl  tl.        htninga  of  fi         irar, 

Thuinl        :  oat  00  v  Bide, 

Loader  than  the  battle's  roar, 
Live,  Republic.       irmoi 


11 


THE   STARS   ARE   ALL   THERE. 

TirEr  're  shining  yet,  our  glorious  stars  ! 

Of  all  the  number  none  is  lost  ; 
Though  hid  behind  the  clouds  of  war, 

They  're  guiding  forth  a  conquering  host. 

CHORUS. 

0  yes  !  comrades,  yes  ! 

We  need  not  despair, 
Though  stormy  the  night 

The  stars  are  all  there  ! 
The  blue  is  above 
On  the  flag  that  we  love, 
And  the  stars  are  all  there  ! 
Yes,  the  stars  are  all  there  ! 

Ambitious  traitors  strive  in  vain 

To  pluck  the  stars  with  fiend-like  war ; 

The  shining  ones  shall  all  remain, 
And  traitors  fall  like  Lucifer. 
0  yes  !  etc. 


THE   STARS  ARE  ALL    THERE.  163 

More  glorious  yet  their  light  shall  stream 

Victorious  from  the  dreadful  fray, 
As  stars  of  niirht  the  brighter  gleam 

~  CD  O 

Just  when  the  storm-clouds  pass  away. 
0  yes  !  etc. 

Not  one  of  all  the  Thirty-foui 

Shall  fall  from  yon  bright  galaxy ; 

Not  one  the  less,  but  many  more 
Illume  the  banner  of  the  free. 
0  yes  !  etc. 

For  He  who  made  the  stars  above 

To  shine  forever  in  the  sky, 
Placed  ours  upon  the  flag  we  love ; 

And  we  '11  defend  them  till  we  die  ! 

O  yes  !  comrades,  yes  ! 

We  need  not  despair, 
Though  stormy  the  night 

The  stars  are  all  there ! 
The  blue  is  above 
On  the  flag  that  we  love, 
And  the  stars  are  all  there ! 
Yes,  the  stars  are  all  there  ! 


THE  MARTYR- PRESIDENT. 

APRIL,  1865. 

Rebellion  !  thou  hast  done  thy  worst ; 

O  treason-spawn  of  slavery  ! 
Thy  work  is  done.     Now  take  thy  crown, — 

The  felon-cap  of  infamy. 

Thou  foulest  murderer  since  Cain, 

Whose  heart,  like  his,  gave  murder  birth, 

Go,  thou  accurst  of  God  and  man, 
A  vagabond  upon  the  earth. 

This  crimsonest,  bloodiest-red  of  all 
The  blossoms  and  the  fruits  of  crime, 

Shall  make  man  blush  that  he  is  man, 
Through  all  the  coming  years  of  time. 

A  nation's  songs  of  joyous  praise, 

Rising  to  God  on  every  gale, 
Were  in  a  moment  hushed  into 

A  nation's  broken-hearted  wail. 


THE    MARTYR-PMESIDENT.  I6fl 

A  nation's  hands,  whi  ring  Bowerfl 

T<  u|  on  her  ruler's  bron 

Wore  palsied  by  thy  murder-bloi 

And  bang  in  sulle:       tow  nou 

The  ]i:       3  Night  that  saw  the  deed, 
From  all  her  starry  lid  weep  : 

Earth  shudder.  1.  stained  with  Bach  pure  blood, 
And  blushed  while  yet  it  lay  asleep. 

The  Day  ar  h  aghast, 

An<l  wrapped  a  cloud  around  the  sun. 

To  hide  his  face  from  that  foul  crim  - 

And  we]  tears  as  Night  had  done. 

O  treason-spawn  of  slavery ! 

Snake,  warmed  within  a  nati  n'a  br 
How  couldst  thou  crawl,  unseen,  bo  high, 

And  Strik  in  hi 

Once  Beeming  angel,  —  devil  n  >w! 

I 'amned  with  eternal  stain  of  bid 
Thy  nam        curst,  like  Lu< 

That  rebel  who  1        -truck  at  God. 

Thy  vict;  hath  s:  1  thy  hruv 

ur  thj  t'a  -kin  ; 

.d  t!.  '  tth 

jorch,  and  md  hum  it  in. 


166  THE  MARTYR-PRESIDENT. 

Thou  'st  saved  what  thou  didst  mean  to  kill, 
O  rage,  most  foul  and  impotent  ! 

For  Freedom  hath  her  Martyr  crowned, 
And  we  our  Martyr-President ! 

A  Martyr's  crown  is  on  his  head, 

The  cap  of  infamy  on  thine  ; 
Thou  livest  to  die  a  felon-death, 

He  died  to  live  a  life  divine. 

For  him  eternal  glory  shines, 

And  deathless  fame  throughout  all  time ; 
But  what  for  thee  but  blood-red  flame 

Of  endless  death  for  blood-red  crime  ? 

What  peerless  blood  filled  Lincoln's  heart,  — 
And  thousands,  —  shed  for  Liberty  ! 

O  Treason  !  look  upon  thy  hands  ; 
'T  is  all  on  thee  !  'T  is  all  on  thee  ! 

Assassin  of  a  President ! 

Thou  hast  not  killed  our  Native  Land ; 
But  thou  hast  murdered  tender  love, 

And  sealed  thy  doom  with  bloody  hand. 

Sweet  angel  Mercy  smiled  by  him, 
While  sitting  on  the  people's  throne  ; 

But  thou  hast  slain  the  angel  there, 
And  left  stern  Nemesis  alone. 


Till'   UARTYR-PR1  "^  /'■  167 

T      lightnin  that  broke  our  hearts 

Hath  melted  all  our  hearts  in  on< 
And  drank  up  all  our  pitying  tears  : 

( I  -  dphurous  Same,  what  hast  thou  <lone ! 

( )ur  iron  wills  are  melted  no- 
All,  all  in  i  11  iron  sword  : 

And  from  that  sword  the  martyr-blood 
Cries  oat  for  » to  the  Lord. 

Wail.  wail.  0  North!     Wail.  wail.  0  Smith: 

Mercy  is  ut  J         •  live 

And  Law  rides  forth  with  Penalty  : 

For  that  sweet  tongue  no  more  forgiv* 

That  si        red  brain  so  toiled  for  ti 
That  murdered  heart  did  love  thee  so  ! 

Wail.  wail.  1 1  South  !  thou  treason-cursed, 
Poor  words  cannot  express  thy  woe  '. 

ice  Washington,  no  man  hath  sat 
(Unconscious  gn        n  all  his  <>wn) 
So  good,  so  kind,  so  grandly  wise, 

Bo  meekly  on  t!         ople'a  thron<  , 

Like  Washington,  he  lived  t 

A  race  from  thraldom,  and  he  died 

As  loved,  r-  1,  and  w< 

T         ind  in  Lrl<>rv  by  bis  tide. 


168  THE  MARTYR-PRESIDENT 

Repenting  tongues,  in  sorrow  clad, 
Come  gathering  round  his  body  slain, 

To  pluck,  alas  !  their  arrows  thence 
Which  stung  his  living  heart  with  pain. 

Eyes  weep  in  love  for  him,  to  whom, 
Alive,  no  loving  look  they  gave  ; 

And  foemen's  hands  cast  evergreen, 
And  sweet,  white  flowers  into  his  grave 

A  nation's  eyes  are  blind  with  grief; 

A  nation's  heart  is  drowned  in  grief; 
Kingdoms  and  crowns  join  in  our  grief ; 

Mankind  is  sobbing  with  our  grief. 

And  never  yet  for  man  hath  grief 

From  broken  hearts  so  wept  and  cried 

Like  that  long  moan  from  wTeeping  slaves,  — 
The  lowly  ones  for  whom  he  died. 

Their  hearts  are  broken  with  their  chains ; 

Their  Moses  who  did  lead  them  through 
The  wilderness  to  Canaan's  shore, 

From  Pisgah  caught  the  pleasant  view, 

Then  in  a  moment  heard  the  voice 
Of  Him  who  set  the  captives  free, 

And  claims  the  glory,  say  to  him,  — 

"  Friend,  come  up  higher :  sit  with  me  !  ' 


VARTTM-PR1  /'.  lG'J 

Could  we  solidify  the  tea 

Bhed  for  the  Mi       ^President, 
Those  precious  jewels  w<  .h, 

Piled  up,  to  build  his  monument ! 


THE  POOR. 

The  poor !  God  help  them,  the  suffering  poor  ! 

In  this  time  of  storm  and  cold, 
When  chill  winds  rattle  their  rickety  door, 

And  enter  their  tenements  old. 
Oh,  little  we  knowr  of  their  want  and  woe, 

Of  their  scanty  table  and  hearth  ; 
How  they  shiver  and  shrink,  while  the  dreary  snow 

Puts  a  shroud  on  the  frozen  earth. 

Hark  !  voices  are  in  the  winds  to-night, 

And  they  tell  us  a  dismal  tale 
Of  the  weary  and  worn  with  the  hunger-blight, 

And  the  poor  man's  piteous  wail. 
Full  many  a  shriek,  on  their  pinions  bleak, 

They  carry  about  the  air, 
From  the  heart  of  the  strong,  by  want  made  weak, 

And  manacled  by  despair. 

There  's  a  stifled  groan  from  a  dwelling  lone, 
Where  fatherless  children  live, 


THE   P0<  171 

AikI  the  mother  hears  her  infant  moan, 

Bat  oh  !  si     baa  nothing  to  giv 
'T  would  rend  your  heart,  that  widow's  cry, 

Wh'»  watcheth  their  Bcanty  bed, 
With  her  hollow  check  and  sunken  • 

And  her  husband  with  the        1. 

Oh,  her  heart  will  break  for  her  children's  sal. 

In  that  1  without  food  or  fir  . 

a  crumb  of  their  crust  will  she  tal 

Lesi  her  lit '  enti1 

And  <1  in  our  wry  si  _\t. 

Of  hui  G  : 

We  must  take  som-  bat  h  iuse  1  Knight, 

I  hr  I  .  .     'at  a  corpse  to-morrow. 

The  poor  ar    (<  !     And  Christian  men, 

1 ; 

Then  BS;  -  -     _  _ain 

G<  mtiful  charil 

Let  it  not  b        1  that  3  1  1, 

Ami  hoard  His  silver  and  gold, 
Whil         leave  the  sufferi  J, 

with  t!.       Id. 


OUR  ONLY  CHILD. 

On,  lovely  was  our  Rosalie 
Unto  her  mother  and  to  ine  ; 
Her  gentle  mother's  image  smiled 
In  Rosalie,  our  only  child. 

But  gone  is  little  Rosalie,  — 
Gone  from  her  mother  and  from  me  ; 
An  an^el  loved  her  when  she  smiled, 
Loved  Rosalie,  our  only  child. 

Encradled  like  a  tint  of  light 
Within  a  dew-drop,  frail  and  bright, 
Was  the  sweet  spirit,  pure  and  mild, 
Of  Rosalie,  our  only  child. 

Oh,  nevermore  shall  on  my  knee, 
No,  nevermore  !  sit  Rosalie, 
Who  all  our  weary  hours  beguiled, 
Sweet  Rosalie,  our  only  child. 


On:  ONLY  i  u i LD.  11 

i  >h,  Devermore  in  gentle  rest, 
A        -l  on  her  moth<  r, 

Where  "ft  she  hong  in  radiance  mild, 
I  li  ealie,  our  only  child. 

We  1        1  to  love  our  Rosalie, — 
We  i  we  might  childless  be  ; 

Yet  loved  her  more,  till  love  grew  wild, 
V  t  B  salie,  onr  only  child. 

We  knew  she  was  not  born  for  earth. 
We  thought  bo  from  her  very  birth  ; 
Bat  knew  it  when  (he  -  died 

On  Rosalie,  our  only  child. 

Th  I  who  hath  loved  her  so, 

And  taken  her  bom  a  world  of  w« 

Bath  our  <>wn  hearts  to  heaven       _  died, 

With  Rosalie,  our  only  child. 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  GRAVE. 

In  the  days  of  our  youth  when  our  hearts  are  all 

gladness, 
And  seldom  we  feel  the  emotions  of  sadness  ; 
When  our  life  is  the  course  of  the  high-bounding 

wave, 
How  dismal  and  drear  is  the  thought  of  the  grave. 

When  the  bright  form  of  beauty  that  smiled  on  our 

path 
Has  been  met  by  the  Monster,  and  crushed  in  his 

wrath, 
And  they  carry  her  forth  to  the  sepulchre's  cave, 
How  cold  to  the  heart  is  the  sight  of  the  grave. 

When  a  sister  hath  died,  like  a  beautiful  rose 
That  droops  on  its  stem  when  the  winter-wind  blows, 
And  her  spirit  hath  gone  to  the  Spirit  who  gave, 
How  we  shrink  from  the  cold,  narrow  house  of  the 
grave. 


THE  LIGHT  OF    THE  QRA  I  175 

From  the  home  of  our  youth  to  the  land  of  the  dead 
When  brother  and  mother  and  father  have  fled, 

Alone  in  OUT  BOROW  DO  comfort  we  crave, 

Fet  reooiling  we  dread  their  embrace  in  the  grave. 

And  must  we  all  lie  in  this  scene  of  destruction, 
Where  revels  the  worm  without  interruption, — 

The  lair  and  the  graceful,  the  youthful  and  hrave, — 
And  is  there  no  light  to  illumine  the  Grave  ? 

Oh,  yes  !  there  is  <  me  who  hath  entered  the  tomb, 
And  broken  it-  ]i  tnda     .  and  banished  its  gloom  : 
Then  be  not  in  terror  of  Jordan's  dark  wave, 
But  cling  to  the  Saviour,  —  the  Light  of  the  Grave  ! 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  AN  INFANT. 

Sweet  little  one  !  thy  life's  young  bud 
Was  nipt  by  Death's  untimely  frost, 

Ere  yet  its  opening  bloom  had  shown 
The  world  the  beauty  it  has  lost. 

But  better  far  for  thee  to  die, 

And  shun  this  bitter  world  of  ours, 

Than  stay  to  feel  the  raging  storms 
That  often  chill  the  sweetest  flowers. 

For  calm  is  thine  unbroken  sleep, 

And  lovely  flowers  shall  o'er  thee  bloom, 

And  pearly  tear-drops  nightly  weep 
Upon  their  lovelier  sister's  tomb. 

Oh,  could  I  cast  these  robes  of  life, 

In  calm  repose  like  thee  to  lie, 
And  feel  no  more  these  piercing  thorns, 

But  wake  in  heaven,  —  how  sweet  to  die  ! 


TO  A  FRIEND  IX  ADVERSITY, 

Park  clouds  are  lowering  in  thy  Bky, 
The  whistling  winds  blow  chill. 

And  murky  storms  are  gathering  oigh, 
To  burst  and  rage  at  will : 

To  rage  upon  the  peaceful  way 
Which  thou  hast  gently  trod, 

And  only  known  life's  summer  day 
And  prospering  -miles  of  God. 

Oh,  humbly  let  thy  heart  rej    so 
On  Him  wh  sri  >rm  : 

And  meekly,  like  the  quiet  r<»> 
!)• :.  1  1  w  thy  fragile  form. 

The  clusterii  _  _  to  ripen  tx 

1  clouds  a  1  as  sun  ; 

And  sorrow  hath  her  children  ble* 

Who  say  *•  Thy  will  be  don. 

12 


178  TO  A  FRIEND  IN  ADVERSITY. 

Then  cast  thy  care  on  Him  who  rears 

The  lily  of  the  vale, 
And  gently  smile  when  sunlight  cheers, 

And  bow  when  storms  assail. 


THE  PEARL. 

Ye  who  in  ships  go  down  into  the  seas, 
And  search  for  riches  on  the  mighty  deep, 

Y OU  flee  -  and  its  mysteri- 

While  ocean'<  waving  fields  ye  plough  and  reap. 

What  ti         res  ye  bring  home,  and  precious  geuis, 
R        gifts  from  hidden  cave,  or  sea-girt  isle, 

To  deck  fair  brows  and  princely  diadems, 
And  rear  the  merchant'-  stately  palace-pile. 

But  not  bo  rich  a  treasui         a  ye  find, 

Plough  a-         nay  your  tr  -yielding  field, 

Bring  from  its  jewelled  depth  h  rarest  kind. 

Glean  all  the  pearly  grain  it-  liar  I  : 

rich  a  gem  is  not  in  all  the  - 
As  that  in  which  all  wealth  aa  1  beauty  blend, 

The  "  Pearl  of  price/1  which  Christ  doth  freely 
place 
l'j>on  the  bosom  of  his  humblest  friend. 


THE  DYING  YEAR. 

Farewell,  thou  dying  year ! 
Thy  May's  sweet  breath,  and  Spring's  sweet 

tune, 
Thy  witching  smiles  of  gentle  June, 

Thy  solemn  Autumn  sere. 

Farewell,  thy  sun  and  song, 
Thy  melody  of  birds  and  brooks, 
Thy  bounding  heart  and  happy  looks, 
And  all  thy  fairy  throng. 

The  midnight  comes  ;  we  part ! 
The  midnight  hour  belongs  to  Death  : 
'T  is  here  ;  his  hand  is  on  thy  breath, 
His  ice  is  on  thy  heart. 

Behold,  they  dig  thy  grave, 
They  weave  thy  snowy  shroud,  O  friend  ! 
How  short  thy  life,  how  swift  thine  end  ! 
A  passing  wind,  or  wave. 


Tin    DTINQ    TEAR  L81 

Thy  phantom  life  is  o'er : 
Ami  till,  at  Christ's  great  Judgment-Beat, 
liiv  record  of  our  deeds  we  meet, 
We  11         by  face  no  moi 

I  [on  Btrangely  thou  hast  Bed  ! 

How  like  the  swift  ship's  foamy  Bpra 

How  like  a  dream  hast  passed  away, 

To  mingle  with  the  dead  : 

To  join  the  deepening  gloom. 
And  dust  of  buried  years  gone  l»y, 
Where  silent,  mouldering  Ages  lie, — 
The  eternal  Past  their  tomb. 

( >Yr  thee  shall  many  a  tear 

Of  bitterness  and  grief  be  shed, 

And  many  a  hope  and  heart  lies  dead 

Witliin  thy  I )  Fear  ! 

With  thee  the  Might  e{>  ; 

The  eloquent,  th<  go  id, 

They  who  of  all  men  forem<  1, 

For  whom  whole  nation        ep  ; 

And  many  a  toying  mai 

Wile,  husband,  parent,  child,  and  friend, 


182  THE  DYING    YEAR. 

Who  hailed  thy  birth  saw  not  thine  end. 
But  in  thy  tomb  are  laid. 

For  them  is  that  deep  moan 
That  sighs  in  empty  hearts  whose  light 
Is  out,  in  homes  which  death's  dark  night 
Makes  desolate  and  lone. 

Farewell  to  thee  and  them ! 
I  hear  the  midnight's  mournful  breeze, 
On  hafpstrings  of  bare,  leafless  trees, 
Chanting  thy  requiem  ! 


WE  SHALL  MEET  AGAIN.  MY  BROTHER 

Faki  thee  vrell  !  we  part,  my  brother  ! 
1  ire  thee  well !  we  part  in  pain  : 

But  r       :_;it  shine-  through  our  sorrow, — 
Brother,  we  shall  meet  again  ! 
Where  the  wicked         e  from  troubling, 
Where  the  weary  are  at  rest. 
Where  his  head  the  loved  disciple 
Lean-  upon  the  Master's  breast, 
Where  the  meeting  has  no  parting 
That  can  break  the  heart  of  lo\ 
Where  no  shadows  cross  the  threshold, 
In  our  Father's  house  above. 

Where  the  daylight  lasts  forever, 
And  no  cloud  can  intervene  — 
Cloud  of  doubt,  n<»r  night  of  darkne* 

1  and  happy  souls  between  ; 
Where  l'        r  blooms  the  Spring-time, 

Where  the  flo\s-  i  Winter  dread, 


184     WE  SHALL  MEET  AGAIN,  MY  BROTHER. 


And  throughout  the  eternal  garden 
None  is  drooping,  none  is  dead ; 
Where  the  heart  by  sin  sore  wounded 
Finds  the  balm  for  all  its  woe  ; 
Where  the  tears  of  godly  sorrow 
Changed  to  gems  of  glory,  glow 
On  the  crown  of  the  Redeemer,  — 
Glow  the  trophies  of  His  grace,  — 
Tears  of  penitence  that  trickled 
Once  upon  a  human  face  : 
Where  the  loved  and  lost,  long  scattered, 
Gather,  never  more  to  roam, 
We  shall  meet  again,  my  brother, 
We  shall  meet  again  at  Home  ! 

Oh,  the  glory  of  the  mansion  ! 
Oh,  the  rapture  of  the  song 
Of  the  always  holy  angels, 
And  the  holy  human  throng ! 
Where  no  sickness,  pain,  nor  sadness, 
Where  no  sigh,  nor  tear,  nor  groan, 
Nor  a  solitary  trouble, 
Nor  a  sin  is  ever  known  ; 
Where  the  mortal  seed  we  bury  — 
Sow  in  tears  beneath  the  ground  — 
Shall  with  beauty  bloom  immortal, 
With  the  life-eternal  crowned  : 
Where  the  family  unnumbered 


//A  I.I.    Hi  i/.V,   Ml'  BR0TH1  /:.     I 

<  tf  the  holy  and  the  blest 

I  [ave  l         ivc  to  damp  their  |        ires, 

Have  no  toil        nar  their  rest  : 

Mid  the  grandeur  and  the  glory, 

Mil  the  echoic  -  of  1 

We  shall  meet  again,  my  brother, 

In  our  Father's  1 1         above  1 


THE  MESSENGER-BIRD. 

The  ship  that  spreads  her  sails  to-day, 
Like  bird  with  snowy  wings, 

As  glad  a  message  bears  away 
As  angel  ever  brings. 

Should  angel  spread  his  wings  above 

To  cleave  the  starlit  deep 
Between  us  and  the  Land  of  Love, 

Where  none  may  sin  nor  weep, 

What  better  news  from  heaven  could  he 
•    Bring  us  with  heavenly  breath, 
Than  that  good  ship  bears  o'er  the  sea 
To  lands  of  sin  and  death  ? 

And  should  an  angel's  lips  proclaim 
The  news,  with  winged  words 

All  fragrant  with  celestial  flame, 
And  musical  as  birds. 


77/ A'  M  //>'/>.  1^7 

Qe  could  not  speak  of  Jesus1  blood 

As  man,  the  sinner,  can. 

The  light  of  God,  the  |       i  of  ( rod, 

The  bi  to  Man  ! 

For  what  could  white-winged  angel  foci. 

And  what  oould  angel  know. 
Of  hearts  that  with  the  burdens  reel 

I  rf  human  guilt  and  woe  1 

Then  fly,  1 1  ship  !  o'er  billows  euried, 

Fly,  d«>ve  !   with  branch  of  peat 

And  tell  a  death-struck,  deluged  world 
The  deluge  soon  shall  cease  ! 

The  wilderness  shall  bloom  again, 

And  desert-sands  be  clad 
With  happy  flocks  and  fields  of  grain. 

And  sorrowing  hearts  be  glad. 

The  blind  shall  see,  the  deaf  shall  hear, 

Ths  nek  and  lame  be  strong, 
And  human  homes  be  filled  with  cheer, 

And  musical  with  son 

Th  all  live.  Bar  •  ives, 

And  by  at         ;  blood 


188  THE  MESSENGER-BIRD. 

Shall  call  dead  nations  from  their  graves 
To  stand  and  worship  God. 

The  sun  again  shall  shine,  and  kiss 
The  dead  sin-deluged  earth, 

And  earth  smile  back  to  heaven  the  bliss 
Of  her  celestial  birth. 


TIIK   BOWER   AND  THE   REAPER 

Tin:  Bower  irent  forth  to  sow  : 

H  -11  like  raya  of  liirht  : 

II-  1  them  high  and  1«»    ■ 

Till  hill  and  valley  were  bright. 

And  there  came  up  a  living  mass 
Of  moving  things  on  tl.        rth  ; 

They  covered  it  like  the  grass 

Which  the  Spring-time  giveth  birth. 

They  grew  up  both  tall  and  fair. 

And  beautiful  to  behold  ; 
On  their  ■  Bowers  rare, 

On  their  heads  were  ci  ;'  gold. 

Thru  the  Reaper  went  forth  to 
Where  the  S       r  had  been  to  aoi 

And  -ruck  hi  the  wide  and  deep, 

And  1.       tthered  both  high  and  low. 


190  TEE  SOWER  AND    THE  REAPER. 

A  merry,  fine  harvest  had  he, 
A  harvest  both  full  and  fair ; 

He  gathered  away  in  glee, 
Uplifting  his  song  to  the  air : 

u  I  mow  you  all  down  !  '    he  sang  ; 

"  Ye  fall  like  the  drops  of  rain  ;  " 
And  his  true  steel  blade  it  rang 

As  it  cut  through  the  golden  grain. 


u  I  gather  you  all !  "  he  said  ; 

And  a  swath  he  laid  at  his  side, 
As  he  swung  his  scythe  in  a  bed 

Of  flowers  that  slept  in  their  pride. 

"  My  garners  are  full,  but  more 
They  build  me  from  day  to  day ; 

So  I  '11  lay  you  all  low,  and  store 
You  all  in  my  mows  away ! ' 

This  Reaper  ne'er  resteth  like  men, 
But  worketh  unwearied  and  strong ; 

He  striketh  again  and  again, 
And  his  harvest  is  very  long. 

He  ceaseth  not  for  the  blast, 

The  night  feels  his  stealthy  tread, 

And  his  harvest-home  will  last. 

Till  he  gathereth  all  with  the  dead. 


II.  ;.\7>    77//;   A\  ft,  II  I 

But  though  the  Reaper  is  strong, 

The  Sower  ia  stronger  than  he, 
And  tl.        tin  he  hath  garnered  long 
The  seedfl  of  new  lite  shall  be. 


They  shall  all  spring  forth  from  the  tomb  ; 

They  shall  breathe  an  immortal  breath  ; 
And  the  good  in  glory  shall  bloom, 

Wot  Christ  is  stronger  than  Death  1 


TIME'S  WING. 

Time's  Wing  dark  shadows  makes 
That  will  not  soon  depart, 

And  from  its  pinions  shakes 
Tear-drops  upon  the  heart. 

Chill  pinions  bathed  in  night,  — 
The  ocean  of  deep  gloom, — 

They  scatter  in  their  flight 
The  death-damps  of  the  tomb. 

Beneath  its  shadows  deep 
The  little  flowers  that  lie, 

Within  their  chambers  creep 
With  drooping  hearts  to  die. 

And  Beauty  with  fair  cheek, 
And  smiles  first  born  in  heaven, 

And  young  Affection  meek, 
Into  the  grave  are  driven. 

Time's  Wing  —  the  rapid  wing  ! 
On  which  we  all  do  fly  — 


TIME'S  WI19  L98 

What  midnight  it  can  ilin_r 
A  our  brightest  sky  ! 

Alas,  that  life's  brief  yean 

Should  be  bo  mixed  with  gloom  ! 

That  man  Bhould  track  with  ' 

His  pa*       •  to  the  tomb  ! 
Thanks  for  the  heavenly  ray 

That  i'rin.  lark  cloud,  — 

A  speck  of  that  lair  ])ay 

Which  ends  not  with  a  shroud. 

Thanks  radioes  sky, 

The  joy  nnmixed  with  gloom, 
The  Bo       -  that  never  die, 

The  world  without  a  tomb ! 

Thanks  for  a  Father's  home 
Where  loved  ones  never  part, 

Where  shadows  cannot  come, 
Nor  Winter  chill  the  heart. 

(  '  •        • .  't  were  hard  to  lii 

And  harder  still  to  di 
I>i'l  not  thy  I  I 

Hope  of  a  world  on  high. 


FOREBODINGS. 

In  a  world  so  full  of  sorrow, 

Why  should  we  more  troubles  borrow  ? 

Why  be  anxious  for  the  morrow  ? 

Anxious  thought  and  dark  foreboding 
Evermore  the  heart  overloading,  — 
Ever  gnawing  and  corroding,  — 

Cast  them  off,  and  trust  the  Power 
Which  protects  the  bird  and  flower 
When  the  angry  tempests  lower. 

Darkest  storm-clouds,  earth  distressing, 
Oft  are  wrapped  around  the  blessing 
Which  sweet  angels  are  caressing. 

When  it  falls,  the  startling  thunder 
Seems  to  rend  the  heavens  asunder, 
But  the  angels  smile  with  wonder. 


FOBEBODIh  198 

V  m  the  earth,  bo  barren,  dreary, 
And  the  birds,  bo  parched  and  weary, 
All  at  once  look  bright  and  cheery. 

With  new  life  the  Bowers  grow  younger; 
All  their  fragile  stems  grow  stronger, 
And  their  fragrance  lasts  the  longer. 

All  the  freshened  woods  are  ringing 
With  the  3  >ngs  the  birds  arc  flinging 
Heavenward  in  their  rapturous  singing. 

Why,  then,  dread  the  coming  hour, 
Or  the  cloud  that  holds  the  shower  \ 
Why  not  trust  the  loving  Tower? 

He  who  lores  the  flow<  rs  90, 
Helps  the  lowliest  lily  grow, 
I  k>tb  not  II«'  thv  dangers  know  ? 

Will  thy  Father  on  the  Throne 
All  His  I  reatures  own, 

And  leave  thee  to  g  I  aloft 

He  who  hears  the  birdlings  crj 
And  to  shield  them  bends  the  skj 

Watches  thee  with  less 


196  FOREBODINGS. 

Be  not  anxious  for  the  morrow, 
Banish  trouble,  pleasures  borrow, 
Borrow  sunshine  and  not  sorrow. 

From  the  Present  take  Joy's  measure, 
From  the  Past  call  hoarded  treasure, 
Send  forth  Hope  for  Future's  pleasure. 


"(HI,   THAT  I   HAD   WINGS !  *  —  Ps.  LT.  6. 

Why  should  we  ask  for  wings  to  fly 
From  trouble,  sin,  and  ear 

Christ  the  Lord  hath  promised  grace 
To  help  us  where  we  are  ? 

What  though  our  enemies  assail 

With  clouds  of  poisoned  darts, 

And  Satan,  chief  of  foes,  assault 
(  )ur  souls  with  hellish  arts? 

God  is  our  shield,  a  sure  defence, 

( )ur  help  in  danger's  houi 
Nor  are  our  f        d  Btrong  enough 

To  stand  before  Bia  |  ower. 

Will  n<»t  the  father  help  the  child  ! 

The  bridegroom 
May  n<>t  the  shepherd's  t;        '.in_r  lamb 

In  his  own  bosom  hide  ? 


198  "OH,    THAT  I  HAD    WINGS!" 

God  is  our  Father,  Christ  our  Lord,  — 
Our  Shepherd,  Husband,  Friend  ; 

And  we  His  children,  bride,  and  flock, 
Are  safe  till  time  shall  end. 

He  '11  put  His  strength  beneath  our  load, 
And  thus  our  burdens  bear ; 

He  '11  put  His  wisdom  in  our  hearts, 
A  guide  from  every  snare. 

And  He  will  arm  us  for  the  strife, 

However  fierce  it  be, 
With  weapons  tempered  in  the  skies, 

With  heaven-made  panoply. 

Bright  Hope  shall  place  his  helmet  on 

Our  feeble  heads  and  bare, 
And  Faith  his  shield  hang  on  our  breast, 

That  we  may  do  and  dare. 

And  Love  shall  fill  our  fearful  souls 
With  courage  of  Saint  Paul, 

That  though  our  foes  be  strong  as  his, 
Like  him  we  '11  meet  them  all. 

Then  we  '11  not  ask,  with  trembling  lips, 

For  wings  to  fly  away, 
But,  with  the  conqueror's  armor  on, 

We  '11  stand  and  win  the  day. 


TRUST. 


Oh,  that  we  might  trust  in  the  Lord, 
Wlio  lo    s,  and  aye  wiD  love  as, 

And  never  have  -  thought 

I  tf  Him  who         is  above  as. 


\\\<  boi       gn  rule,  though  i       md  great, 

h  _  atle  as  a  brother's  : 
Hia  love  is  constant,  infinii 

And  i  a  mother's. 

II    v  stra]  _    that  n     si  raid  ever  doabt, 
WTien  -  iil  as, 

at  His  g     I  will  can  bear  oa  oat, 
Or  fear  Hia  arm  might  fail  d 

W(  '  py  of  Hia  _ 

And  of  Redemj 

Of  thou  I  through 

Our  d       '  world  to  glon 


200  TRUST. 

But  never  have  we  read  of  one 
He  by  the  hand  had  taken, 

To  lead  in  ways  of  righteousness, 
The  Lord  hath  e'er  forsaken. 

The  smoking  flax  He  will  not  quench, 
Nor  chide  the  poor  in  spirit ; 

But  broken  hearts  that  trust  His  grace 
His  kingdom  shall  inherit. 


FOUNTAINS   IX   THE   WILDEBNES& 

Fountains  in  the  wilderness 

Are  the  Holy  Prom;-  - 
Gushing  fn>m  the  Rock  of  Trial 
Giving  life  and  endless  youth. 

As  a  bird  with  wearied  w'wz 
3  the  living  water-spring. 
Thence  to  draw  new  strength  to  fly 

Upward  toward  its  native  >ky; 

tired  pilgrim-saint, 
In  the  desert,  3a  1  and  taint, 

Draws  now  life  from  Christ,  the  Lonl, 

At  these  well-springs  of  His  Word. 

Unseen  ai  tog  t: 

like  sweet  perfume  in  the  air, 
N  with  heavenly  art, 

Lift  th  3  from  hia  heart. 


202         FOUNTAINS  IN   THE    WILDERNESS. 

Prayers  that  wing  their  way  to  heaven 
Come  again  with  answers  given,  — 
Laden  come  with  treasures  sweet, 
From  the  golden  Mercy-Seat, 


Bringing  balm,  and  bread,  and  wine 
From  the  Promised  Land  divine, 
Welcome  food  as  ravens  took 
"To  Elijah  at  the  brook. 


TIIK   HARVEST-HOME 

Afl  -  R    -  the  footsteps  of  angels, 
And  clothed  in  their  pure  ennine  dress, 

The  cometfa  down  from  the  heavens, 

Our  cold  earth  to  Bhield  and  to  Met 

It  covers  the  ground  with  a  mantl  . 

The  frost-bitten  garden  it  Bhields, 
And  hides  from  marauding  n  >rth-wind  Masts 

The  treasures  of  wheat  in  the  fields. 

The  rain-dro]  a  fall  Boft  in  the  Summer 
Fr  >m  the  winged  clouds  flying  above, 

Like  gems  from  the  bosoms  of  i        9, — 
E  ich  dr<»p  filled  with  light  and  with  loi 

1      d  back  the  eartli  an         -  t  1  heaven 
For  the  BUOW,  and  bl        1  purr  rain. 

By  brii       1  forth  bread  I  r, 

And  har.        of  ri  grain. 


204  THE  HARVEST-HOME. 

And  so  shall  the  Word  of  the  Lord  be 
That  cometh  from  heaven  to  men ; 

Without  the  thanksgiving  of  millions 
It  shall  not  return  there  again. 

Its  mantle  of  love  in  the  Winter, 
In  Summer  its  sweet  falling  rain, 

Shall  bring  forth  for  man  a  sure  harvest, 
More  precious  than  ripe  golden  grain. 

A  multitude  no  man  can  number 
Of  sheaves  shall  be  carried  above, 

And  the  glorified  Lord  of  the  Harvest 
Shall  fill  all  his  garners  of  love. 

That  time  shall  men  walk  with  the  angels, 
On  the  high  hills  of  God  they  shall  roam, 

And  the  angels  and  men  sing  together 
The  hymn  of  the  great  Harvest-Home. 


THE  PENITENTS   PRAYER. 

My  father  !  here  am  1  ! 

Receive  thine  erring  child, 
And  leave  me  not  to  die 

Qp  'ii  the  wintry  will. 

I  know  my  Bin  and  shame, 
But  know  that  thou  art  good  ; 

And  long  have  called  thy  nam<  . 
WEile  tears  have  been  my  food. 

L  ok  at  my  tattered  dress ; 

L  ok  at  my  haggard  bee ; 
They  tell  my  wretchedness, 

My  want,  and  my  dk         e. 

Hunger  and  cold  ha       kings, 
And  I  have  felt  them  all  ; 

Bat  bitterer  Buffering  wrings 
My  penitenti       all. 


206  THE  PENITENTS  PRAYER. 

Oh,  grant  me  one  desire 
Before  I  join  the  dead  ! 

I  'm  cold  and  need  the  fire ; 
My  hunger  cries  for  bread  ;  — 

But  I  've  a  want  above 

Such  wants.  —  Give  me  my  part 
Of  my  own  father's  love,  — 

My  old  place  near  his  heart ! 

Love  me,  or  else  I  die  ! 

This  boon,  0  father,  give 
My  broken  heart,  that  I, 

Thine  erring  child,  may  live. 


A   PATHEB  TO   His   ERRING   CHILD. 

I  Iomb  back  !  c        back,  my  child  ! 

Thy  father  loi        nee  more 
To  have  thee  reconciled, 

Within  the  hom<         1  door. 

Come  from  thy  wanderings,  come  ! 
No  longer  be  exiled  ; 

Come  to  tliv  father's  home. 

■ 

Gome  hack  to  me,  my  child  ! 

Fly  from  the  world's  rough  harms; 

1 1         from  tlif  Wintry  wild  ; 

1  to  thv  lather's  arms  : 

■k  !  c        back,  my  child  ! 

Com-        k.  where'er  thou  art : 

C        an«l  be  reconciled  : 
Come  to  thy  fa!      '-  In-art  ; 

I   me  home  I  come  home,  my  child  ! 


THE   SLEEPER. 

Asleep  !     O  precious  sleep  of  rest, 
That  calms  at  last  the  sick  one's  breast 

Long  racked  with  pain  and  care ; 
Now  bear  her  softly  to  her  bed,  — 
To  the  low  pillow  where,  she  said, 
She  longed  to  lay  her  weary  head, 

And  lay  her  gently  there. 

You  need  not  fear  to  wake  her  now, 
Or  place  again  upon  her  brow 

The  sufferer's  crown  of  pain  : 
For  now  she  smiles  while  others  weep ; 
Such  slumbers  holy  angels  keep  ; 
No  noises  ever  wake  such  sleep ; 

She  will  not  wake  again. 

O  thanks  !  she  will  not  wake  to  know 
Again  the  pangs  of  mortal  woe  ! 

Woe's  work  in  her  is  done,  — 
The  racking  pain,  the  midnight  groan, 


////  ft.  2< 

Th  try  moan, 

And  praying  that  the  night  ]  ■  _  c 

And  for  the  mornu       in. 

In  the  ton  grave  for  her  that  wail 

Her  flesh  shall  rest  in  hope;  th      Ji  gai 

Celestial,  tar  above, 

Her  bouI  has  passed  and  bond  its  rest, 
A>  bird  escaped  Bies  t<>  it-  nest. 
She  sings  now  on  h<     '  iviour'fi  breast 
A  ceaseless  -  >ng  of  1<>\ 


H 


HEAVEN. 

Heaven  is  a  high  and  lofty  place  ; 
We  know  not  where,  except  that  there 
God  is  as  He  is  not  elsewhere, 

And  shows  Himself  in  Christ's  sweet  face. 

Its  golden  doors  fly  open  wide 
For  pilgrim-souls  from  Calvary's  gate  ; 
And  Christ  their  coming  doth  await, 

As  bridegroom  waiteth  for  his  bride. 

The  path  from  earth  to  yon  great  height, 
Though  narrow,  hath  full  room  for  all, 
And  they  who  hear  their  Saviour's  call 

Shall  find  it  flooded  with  His  light. 

Its  entrance-gate  is  lowly  down, 
Where  sinners,  mourning  for  their  sin, 
May  lift  the  latch  and  enter  in, 

And  from  the  cross  walk  to  the  crown. 


THE   SHEPHERD   OF   ISRAEL. 

I ).  Th"u  Good  Shepherd  !  who  in  days  of  old 
Didst  break  the  cords  that  bound  Thy  bleeding 
sheep, 

And  from  Egyptian  wolves  didst  guard  thy  i<>ld 
With  watchful  eyes  of  love  that  never  sleep: 

Thy  high,  uplifted  staff  of  cloud  and  fi] 
As  on  it  led  toward  pastures  lair  and  in    . 

With  courage  did  Thy  timid  flock  inspin 

And  blanched  with  fear  their  ravening  enemy. 

When  in  the  wilderness  they  went  astray. 

Thy  gentle  voice  recalled  their  wandering  feet ; 

When  shivering  in  the  wintry  tempest,  tl. 
Within  thine  arms  found  life-reviving  heat. 

On  ban        inds  they  ate  delicious  food, 
The  rock  a  fount  at  Thy  command, 

Till  they  had  i        1  the  desert  through,  and  it     I 
Within  the  encloe         of  the  Promised  Land. 


212  THE  SHEPHERD  OF  ISRAEL. 

Still,  gentle  Shepherd !  still  Thou  hast  a  fold 
That  needs  Thy  loving  care  by  night  and  day ; 

Behold  Thy  feeble  flock  !  and  oh,  behold 
The  hungry  wolves  that  raven  for  the  prey ! 

The  little  lambs  have  thy  baptismal  mark, 
But  many  dangers  hedge  their  way  along ; 

And  cold  the  storm  is,  and  the  night  is  dark, 
And  they  that  seek  their  hurt  are  fierce  and 
strong. 

Almighty  Shepherd !  strong  as  Thou  art  good, 
Thou  wilt  not  leave  Thy  lambs  to  be  the  prey 

Of  prowling  wolves  that  scent  their  youthful  blood. 
And  track  their  steps  and  howl  upon  their  way. 

For  Thou  didst  bear  for  them  the  fearful  shock 
Of  that  great  storm  which  hung  the  heavens 
with  wrath, 
And  shook  the  earth,  and  wTould  have  crushed  thy 
flock 
With  lightning -bolts  that   crashed  upon  their 
path, 

Hadst   Thou   not   stood   between   them   and   the 
storm  — 
When  Heaven  was  angry  —  all  that  dreadful 
day: 


THE  SHEPHERD  OF  ISRAEL.  219 

Hadsi  Thou  oat  interposed  Thy  ble       g  form 
In  their  defence,  and  led  them  Bafe  awa 

Sach  matchless  love  ire  know  Thy  flock  will  keep; 

Thy  rod,  Thy  Btaff,  Thy  word  of  kind  can 
Will         1 1   Thy  lambs,  and  guide  Thy  trusting 
Bheep, 

Till  they  have  safely  passed  the  wilderness. 

Then,  washed  from  earthly  stains  in  that  pure  fount 
Which  flows  through  Paradise  in  rills, 

1         shall  find  pastures  od  the  Sacred  Mount, 

And  follow  Thee  en  all  the  heavenly  hill 


THE  PILGRIM, 

A  poor  wayfaring  pilgrim  came,  of  old. 

To  Zion's  Gate,  the  City  of  our  God, 
And  there,  beside  the  Shepherd's  happy  fold, 

Addressed  the  throng  her  golden  courts  who 
trod : 

"  Tell  me,  O  children  of  Jerusalem  ! 

Where  dwells  the  Prince  of  Peace  ye  love  so 
well, 
That  I  may  go  and  touch  His  garment's  hem ; 

O  tell  me  wrhere  does  your  Beloved  dwell  ? 

"  For  peace  long  have  I  sought  in  many  a  spot, 

•  In  huts  of  penury,  in  halls  of  pride  ; 
And  still  I  seek,  but  yet  I  find  it  not,  — 
Peace  ever  flies  before  my  rapid  stride. 

"  Restless,  I  wander,  but  where'er  I  go 
Goes  evil  with  me  :  this  I  cannot  flee  ; 

A  shadow  of  some  strange,  impending  woe, 
As  if  formed  from  myself,  still  follows  me. 


PILGRIM. 

"  Aocuaing  ^»  uilt  Bits  heavy  on  my  heart, 

Etc  mmting  all  my         from  Memory's  scroll; 

The  worm  Ren*        gnaws  at  my  vital  part, 
And  Joel      rtandn  bo  seiae  my  trembling  soul. 

M  I  "ve  asked  in  vain  the  oracles  of  lime, — 

Wise  men  and  —  Whither  shall  I  go  ? 

They  point  in  different  way-,  in       vy  clim  . 
And  din  my  •     3,  but  cannot  heal  my  woe, 

••  I  iked  of  Nature,  for  her  words  are       rt, 

And  I  have  bred  her  from  my  days  of  youth. 
And  h        with  rapture  on  her  loving  t. 

And  drunk  sweet  waters  from  her  wells  of  truth. 

"  But  she  v.         lent.     Thus  did  she  confess, 

With  all  her  wealth  of  wis      i  and 
With  all  her  beauty  and  her  j  to  bl 

She  could  not  give  the  good  for  which  I  long. 

••  I  d  of  Ii         D  :   but  her  ch<  light 

Shone  dimly  round  my  ei  I  : 

The  tew  my  Jit 

Was  like  cold  moonb  _■  on  the  dead. 

"  <  >.  teO  me,  thru,  ye  children  of  the  light ! 
Where  dwells       t  I'rmce  of  Peace,  and  I 
me  wher 


216  THE  PILGRIM. 

His  words  of  love  may  cleave  the  walls  of  night, — 
This  living  death,  —  this  prison  of  despair." 

Thus  spake  the  pilgrim  to  that  simple  throng, 
Who  erst  had  sought  for  peace  from  shore  to 
shore. 

They,  listening,  for  a  moment  hushed  their  song, 
Then  louder  sang  and  sweeter  than  before, 

And  pointed  to  the  Shepherd  of  the  fold, 

Who  on  the  hill  of  Calvary  poured  His  blood 

That  men  might  sit  in  seats  of  shining  gold, 
In  the  eternal  palaces  of  God. 

He  looked,  and  godlike  pity  met  his  eyes  ; 

The  Gate  flew  open  for  his  willing  feet ; 
Upon  him  fell  a  mantle  from  the  skies ; 

And  angels  led  him  to  a  shining  seat. 

A  stream  of  music  from  his  broken  heart 

Gushed  forth,  like  water  from  the  stricken  rock  ; 

He  found  the  peace  the  world  cannot  impart, 
By  looking  to  the  Shepherd  of  His  Flock. 


THE    END. 


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